


All Tomorrow's Parties

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [9]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: 1970s, 1980s, 20th Century, Adult Content, Adultery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Heroin, Musicians, Ross and Dem, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Spoilers, Substance Abuse, characters from Poldark will keep being added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: Demelza goes forth...
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Malcolm McNeil, Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark, Elizabeth Chynoweth/Ross Poldark, Hugh Armitage/Demelza Carne
Series: 33 and 1/3 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420387
Comments: 222
Kudos: 83





	1. Thin Line Between Love And Hate

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a 'sex, drugs and rock and roll' based, canon divergent, 20th century, alternate universe version of Winston Graham's Poldark saga and may contain spoilers for the whole series, INCLUDING CHARACTER DEATHS.  
> If you wish to remain unspoiled for books after WG's 'The Loving Cup', the last chapter in this story is 'You Make Loving Fun' and you should not read past that point.
> 
> All Tomorrow's Parties, The Velvet Underground 1967
> 
> 33 and 1/3 is a series 
> 
> Little Wing- Ross and Demelza meet in 1964( Ross Poldark)  
> Why Don't We Do It In The Road- Ross and Demelza marry in 1968 ( Ross Poldark and part of Demelza )  
> Gimme Shelter- Ongoing difficulties ( Demelza and Jeremy Poldark)
> 
> I Believe In Father Christmas is the Christmas reconciliation from Warleggan
> 
> Opening Theme From Dr. Who- Fluff and the introduction of infant Clowance, Ross and Dem's daughter ( Black Moon )
> 
> Ballroom Blitz-A stand alone story about Demelza's band 
> 
> The Wall- A joke about...  
> ...New Career In A New Town- The major plot deviation from the Poldark canon on which All Tomorrow's Parties rests. Hugh and Malcolm are the bassist/producer/manager and drummer in Demelza's trio and their relationship individually and together to Demelza is very different from established Poldark.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 9, 1975

I. Rich Girl

Ordinarily, one could not accuse Elizabeth Chynoweth of being an arrogant person. That she possessed the self centeredness that comes from being raised from the cradle to be admired, to be trained up by her mother into a pedigree hothouse flower, a prize-to fully inhabit the idea that she was a prize to be won-was certainly true. That and her expectation that she be admired can seem like arrogance to the untrained eye but really just life as it's lived for a woman like Elizabeth.  
Elizabeth, would not be one to be accused of deviousness. She was a pragmatist. When her mother's influence became too much to bear, she rebelled by running around London on the arm of Ross Poldark. Feted as an impossibly glamorous couple, the sharpest Mod and the prettiest dolly girl. She had her fun. When her nightlife had gotten out of control, her dependence on speed too complicated to hide, pragmatism demanded a new chapter in her life. Elizabeth had no qualms. She got clean and married Ross' cousin, Francis. For what is the goal when you exist to feed men's desire? One finds the man who will bring the most to the table. Ross was fun but he had no money to speak of and no initiative to get any. Francis had money, property and her mother's approval. It was never cunning, however calculating the rubric. Elizabeth simply stepped into the role she was raised to fill-the crown princess of the Chynoweth family.  
Pragmatism demanded an heir. Her son, Geoffrey Charles, ticked that box. She doted on her son and was set to enjoy what life brought her as a contented society wife until the wheels fell off her marriage with Francis. Francis, in some ways, was the opposite of Elizabeth. Secure in being the Poldark heir, but little else. A shadow of doubt was always plaguing him. He was adrift. He didn't have the self centeredness that comes from knowing ones place. Charles, his father, was often critical of Francis even as he neglected to mentor or train his son to take the reins of the families interests. Charles' out sized personality and need for control left Francis standing on the sidelines, watching, not sure if he would measure up to his father's exacting standards. Francis started gambling and his loses never kept him from stopping. there was always one more turn of a card, one more roll of the dice...Elizabeth and Francis started inhabiting separate lives. She dandled her son and lunched and did her charity work in a female world, he slipping, ever deeper, into a male world of chance. Then she was widowed.

After Francis died, Elizabeth found that he was not just a feckless gambler. He had been a competent administrator to Trenwith, their estate, and all of those duties fell into her lap. She knew little of running an estate. When she required advice, she found herself leaning on George Warleggan, whose position running Warleggan Group, a record label consolidating every smaller concern they could buy and absorb in a bid to become "number three", behind EMI and Warner Group, made him extremely powerful and wealthy. In her day to day issues and concerns for Trenwith she also leaned on her cousin by marriage and former boyfriend, Ross Poldark who lived near by in a more modest farmhouse with his young wife, Demelza. Ross was not wealthy, though he felt compelled to help her by giving her money, occasionally. He was not particularly influential in the way George was. Ross' records with his band, Resurgam, sold well, but he'd never struck big with the sort of hit that would insure a fortune. What Ross gave Elizabeth was support and advice but, more importantly, a constant injection of admiration, something a woman like Elizabeth needed as much as food or oxygen. Ross' bitterness over her marriage to Francis had subsided and their relation by marriage became a way to draw Ross back into her life. Ross had a strange pull towards Elizabeth. It is said that one never forgets a first love and Ross held a flame burning in service to that love that was eternal even when it was a winking ember rather than a full flame. That love, perhaps, given extra savor through vanity on both their parts. As a couple, they turned heads and were given adulation in the amphetamine fueled world of London's Modernist scene. That sort of regard in a carefree world of dancing and excitement was a nice memory for each of them to retreat to as both Elizabeth in her widowhood and Ross, who had many episodes of tragic luck and hardship in recent years found real life a little too cruel towards them. The happy, soft and glamorous memory of an easier time was its own seduction.  
To keep the wolves from the door and, first and foremost, be pragmatic, Elizabeth agreed to marry George Warleggan. His need for an aristocratic wife to cement his ambitions dovetailed with her need for security and a well feathered nest. This match eclipsed her previous marriage and compounded it. She had all the Trenwith Poldarks possessed through her son with Francis and would have the luxurious life of a wife to a music label mogul. Tonight, though she was ordinarily not devious, Elizabeth was compelled to play with fire. To play with the flame of love and fantasy that, after months of careful, subtle stoking, burned anew inside Ross. To poke the embers and dare to produce a brighter flame, for there was one last thrill she had not partaken of and it was a matter of pragmatism to use the small window of time to secure it.

II. Jolene

Nampara, a cozy farmhouse and estate owned by musician Ross Poldark and his wife, Demelza had weathered many storms on the Cornish coast. The old stone walls had stood up to many a blowing gale, driving rain, the vicious snows of '63...Nampara took each in turn and survived. A different storm brewed tonight. Internal and burning, quietly, in an envelope on the mantel in the parlor. Demelza feared the coming storm. The house would stand, but would its inhabitants?  
Demelza waited for her husband to return from running errands in Sawle. She dreaded his return for a note had come from Elizabeth at Trenwith. In the months since Francis died, Elizabeth often summoned Ross to her aid for this or for that. They both behaved as if her prior claim on his affection was sufficient reason for him to assist her. They both regarded it as perfectly normal. Dem was not quite sure it was normal. Should one by constantly in love with someone you parted ways from years before? Not just the affection of friends but an obsessive love? That did not seem healthy even if it was normal.  
Absentmindedly going through the well worn routine of putting Jeremy to bed, she fretted over the note. She was not above peeking. Ross was her husband after all, she had to know. She had been afraid over their interactions, trying to give Ross the benefit of the doubt, trying to will herself to relax, trying not to fret over shadows. But tonight, Elizabeth had news that would drive Ross crazy and there was no telling how far that mania would go. Elizabeth was informing Ross that she was marrying George Warleggan.  
The Warleggans, with George at the helm, tried to get Ross imprisoned on a false drug trafficking charge. Even though Ross was found not guilty, the court case ruined them. The legal bills left them practically destitute. The strain of the trial, as well as the death of their daughter, Julia, had brought darkness to their life. They were two broken and traumatized people, trying to live the same life but sleepwalking through life rather than living it. That Elizabeth, Ross' great love should choose to marry George, the architect of so much misery for them was news Demelza was not in a hurry for Ross to know. The storm was gathering and she waited, resigned to the fact that it may well drown them all.  
Ross came through the door, preoccupied. He gave Dem a kiss on the cheek without much thought in it. He went to put groceries in the kitchen and Demelza heard his footfall as he went into the parlor. She waited. Ross found her in the library. She was hiding there, if she was honest. Out of sight, out of mind she hoped. If Ross had a bad reaction to the news perhaps he would leave without seeking her. Dem would have preferred that. She did not want to see Ross acknowledge his choice, rather that he simply leave...  
Ross crumpled the note in his hand. "You knew about this?" His voice had no affection in it. Demelza shrugged. "I'd heard rumors..." Ross frowned. "You didn't think to tell me?" "How could I?" Dem replied, woodenly, "It would just upset you." Ross paced a little, he seemed antsy. "It must be stopped..." Ross turned to look out the window but didn't seem to be seeing anything in front of him. He was lost in thought. Demelza was concerned. "How? Why? She knows her own mind! Why shouldn't she marry George? It's not as if he has a gun to her head!" Ross spoke as if through a glass wall. "I have to speak to her, make her see it's wrong!" Dem was alarmed now. "Go over in the morning, not now!" Demelza had a clarity of vision that scared her. Ross was that angry. This either meant that Ross might fuck Elizabeth or kill Elizabeth, either choice bringing calamity down upon them all. "Don't go tonight! Sleep on it! Go in the morning!" But Ross was not listening. She could see that. He had already retreated into his mind, scheming arguments, ginning himself up for something unreasonable. Driven by anger and fueled by the obsessive love of Elizabeth she had witnessed for so long. "Ross!" She put her hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off. She took a step away from him then. Dem could see there was nothing she could say to change his mind. She watched him leave. she wondered if she might faint, she felt ill all of a sudden. She sat on the floor, cross legged, and leaned forward to rest her head on her knee, let the blood flow back to her head. She stretched out and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. They had shot their album cover here, on the floor of the library, kissing each other, roses strewn all around them. It seemed like a distant dream. Dem found there were no tears in her, she was feeling a sadness so intense it put her in a daze. Ross had chosen Elizabeth over her, and it stung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Thin Line Between Love And Hate, The Persuaders 1971
> 
> Rich Girl, Hall and Oates 1976
> 
> Jolene, Dolly Parton 1974


	2. Black Magic Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly

I. Under My Thumb

Ross, not registering the stricken look Dem gave him as he left, went to Trenwith in an angry daze. He knew only that he'd been thwarted by fate. He had lost Elizabeth to Francis and now she was going to bind herself to George? George, of all people! Elizabeth had been his in some fundamental way and yet she constantly eluded his grasp...It had to be money, why else? Ross had assisted her with funds, here and there, when he could manage it. He had no doubt Elizabeth would marry again, even marry 'well', but George?  
He tramped onward through the wooded area that lay between Nampara and Trenwith, not really considering what he was going to do once he got there. That Demelza knew of his intent before he did was not strange. She had lived with Ross since she was twelve. Dem knew his moods and manner. Ross, if one had stopped him at this point and asked, would not have suggested what was about to transpire was possible. His emotions slotted him into a very thin band of perception. He could not see ahead of him or behind. Elizabeth should not marry George. That consumed his mind at the moment. Even the arguments he tried to organize in his mind in Nampara had left him. He walked on.  
He approached Trenwith from the back of the house. Trying to remember which window was hers. This interview was not something the servants should know about and he was compelled to steal into the house like a burglar to reach her. A curdled scene from some demented Shakespeare romance turned tragedy- Romeo and Juliet by way of Hamlet...  
Ross climbed the tree he and Francis used to climb in their youth and tried the sash of the window. It opened. He crawled through and let his eyes adjust to the light. Trenwith was a Poldark house. Ross' father and Charles, Francis' father didn't get on, but their sons were friends and Verity, Charles' daughter, was practically Ross' sister so he knew the place well. He tried the door to Elizabeth's bedroom. It was unlocked. Empty. He sat at her dressing table. Quite different to his wife's modest one. Dem's dressing table was more often covered with jars of flowers and stray guitar picks rather than perfume bottles. Elizabeth's was a formal, ladylike tableau of glamorous cosmetics, and expensive scent. Mirrored trays holding fine jewellery awaited their mistress. He looked into the mirror. A malevolent looking Ross stared back at him. He would wait. He could wait all night. He had all the time in the world.

It was quite late when Elizabeth retired for the night. She was disappointed. She had hoped Ross would come to her at once when he got her note. He often did for missives more trivial that the one she sent tonight. It was a courtesy to inform him. To hear it from her rather than hear it by other means. It was also a gauntlet and she damn well threw it. She and Ross had been spoiling for some sort of resolution of their feelings. 'Nice girls don't' but she had been nice long enough. Francis and George were all well and good but Ross was the tempting Bluebeard that all women dreamed over. That he should waste himself on his stray alley cat of a wife was a mystery to Elizabeth. People whispered that Demelza had been a child groupie throughout the years and his marriage to her seemed to cement the idea rather than dispel it in the minds of some. Elizabeth wondered herself, from time to time, but always decided it could not be true. Ross broke just about every rule set in front of him but he would never take advantage of a child, even if she was young when they wed. Ross seemed to have tired of Demelza. Elizabeth and Ross had kissed, briefly, at Christmas when Francis was still alive. Had Demelza not come upon them, perhaps they could have come to some arrangement then. He wouldn't have kissed her if Demelza was keeping him happy. How could a gangly girl like her satisfy a man like Ross? She, dejectedly, turned the doorknob to her bedroom. Perhaps tomorrow or within the week. One last little rebellion and then a new marriage...

II. Gold Dust Woman

She entered her room and bit off a cry, startled to see Ross sitting at her dressing table. She gasped. "How...?" Ross stood up and stared at Elizabeth. "Close the door, Elizabeth. We need to talk." She did so. "You got my note?" she asked. "Yes. Why on earth are you marrying George?" Elizabeth sighed. "I haven't been very clever with my life, Ross. George asked me to marry him and I said yes. I wasn't meant to be alone. I don't know how to be alone. I don't know how to be by myself." Ross frowned. "You don't have to be by yourself! There's loads of other men, rich men," she heard a sneer in Ross' voice when he said that. "You could have your pick of anyone! Don't marry George!" Elizabeth looked squarely at Ross. "I'm not going back on my word!" she sniffed, haughtily, "Why should I? I told you myself because I didn't want you to hear it somewhere else. I owed you that, at least. You have been a great help to me over these past months. I know you don't like him..." "He tried to get me put in prison!" Ross growled. Elizabeth was not sure what to say. She did not want to antagonize Ross over the trial. "This is a bad idea, Elizabeth. I'd feel better knowing that you will change your mind. You don't have to be alone. George is not the answer." 'There,' thought Ross. 'calm, rational, perfectly civil...'  
Elizabeth took off her earrings and moved to place them in one of the mirrored trays on the dressing table. He could smell her perfume as she extended her arm to leave them there. He could smell her skin. She stood facing him. "Ross, I'm going to marry George. I can't help you. What can you do for me?" Ross remained silent. "Exactly!" said Elizabeth, "You have your life to live and I have mine." Ross crossed the room to look out the window. There was very little rational thought in him now. He spoke, still facing the window. Ross spoke quietly, as if he was speaking to his own reflection in the glass panes.  
"There is one thing I can do for you that George cannot."  
"Which is?" asked Elizabeth.  
"Fuck you until you know what it means." Ross hissed.

Elizabeth's mouth fell open. She had engineered this situation and now that it was happening, his dark mood gave her pause. There was an attractiveness to Ross, even as he looked angry. 'Brute heart of a brute like you...' Would anger make it that much more? She snapped her mouth shut, lifted her chin. Poke the flame...once and for all... She narrowed her eyes and smiled.  
"You wouldn't dare."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Magic Woman, Santana 1970
> 
> Got a black magic woman  
> I've got a black magic woman  
> Got me so blind I can't see  
> That she's a black magic woman  
> She's trying to make a devil out of me
> 
> Under My thumb, The Rolling Stones 1966
> 
> Under my thumb  
> The girl who once had me down  
> Under my thumb  
> The girl who once pushed me around  
> It's down to me  
> The difference in the clothes she wears  
> Down to me, the change has come  
> She's under my thumb
> 
> Gold Dust Woman, Fleetwood Mac 1977
> 
> Wake up in the morning  
> See your sunrise loves to go down  
> Lousy lovers pick their prey  
> But they never cry out loud  
> Cry out  
> Did she make you cry  
> Make you break down  
> Shatter your illusions of love  
> And is it over now do you know how  
> Pick up the pieces and go home.
> 
> Elizabeth removed her earrings for the night, it is often a trope in fights between girls that one takes out their earrings to show they are seriously going to mess their opponent up, Elizabeth, has an inkling she's going to end up horizontal as well as letting Ross smell the perfume on the inside of her elbow. She knows what's she doing.
> 
> "Brute heart of a brute like you" From Sylvia Plath's poem, 'Daddy'
> 
> Bluebeard:A French fairytale. Bluebeard is a wealthy nobleman who keeps remarrying but his wives keep dying. His newest bride, warned by him not to open a door with a key, does so and finds the corpses of the previous wives and can't keep it secret for the key is stained with blood so he will find out. A "bluebeard' is the smoking hot, totally dangerous guy that a mother would warn their daughter against getting mixed up with.


	3. Fascination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mods and Rockers' Ball  
> or  
> The very bad thing...
> 
> May 9, 1975

Ross struggled to keep his eyes open. Having spent years watching Elizabeth smile, sing, whisper, speak in the regal, received pronunciation her mother demanded of her, banishing Cornwall's vowels from her voice...having had that fascination with her mouth, he was determined to watch. Even as he wanted to throw back his head and just feel it, he made himself look at her. When the pleasure came, he spasmed with a force he'd not thought himself capable of, for when you have already entered perdition, make it count...

"Liza!"

Liza, with a 'z', and Elizabeth Chynoweth were the same person. Elizabeth had always existed but Liza was ensconced in the confines of a certain place and time-the Modernist Scene, in the early Sixties in London town. Newly released from her mother's smothering influence and installed in the sort of woman only residence that befit a woman of her station, alone in the capital, Liza painted the town red. She had a raft of quite simple shift dresses she'd had made in her hometown -Trelask's of Truro- and they were astonishingly beautiful. Pastel, ice cream colors, ice pink, green the color of sherbet, the palest blue, a fawn color that threatened dowdiness on anyone else but made her look regal. Her cut glass accent betrayed no Cornwall in her speech. She had a crayon box's worth of heeled dancing shoes, in every color, bought at a dance shop near Covent Garden with their taps removed. Liza was queen. She was renowned for being the only girl who never deigned to use the mattresses in La Discothque where the other girls would collapse on the sides of the room, to rest before they resumed dancing. When Liza wasn't dancing she was flitting about the club being effervescent and witty. Soaking up the admiration of her peers-the top faces of the scene. Liza, free as a bird and deliriously happy to be away from her mother, danced the club down until 4:30 in the morning and looked smashing doing it for she was always partnered by Ross Poldark, the sharpest face on the scene. That the elegance and stamina were due to Drinamyl, a form of amphetamine, was not at issue. She and Ross were no different than any other kids on the scene, they just did it better...

"Liza!"

There are many ways to know victory. Ross' anger was not turned aside in the first assault, the first salvo. Elizabeth bore it in fascination. He was not gentle. It was not altogether bad. An uncharitable thought-'Francis was nothing like this'- for Ross incensed and demanding. The novelty of being under Ross passion was not negative, if she was honest...later, the tenor of the night had changed. The beginning, poisoned by arrogance on her side and anger on Ross' subsided. They embarked on a less fraught interaction. She did things she did not even consider doing with Francis, her late husband, and was rewarded. Ross cried out her old name. For as much as he was still Demelza's husband, Elizabeth had claimed back the part of Ross she considered hers alone. Elizabeth had no twinges of conscience as to the way she had gained that end. It was her right, her due, and she claimed it.

There was a wan light from the edge of Trenwith's border, far from the house, lighting the room. Elizabeth's body felt like a fine sheen of silk where ever Ross lay his hand. They lay quiet now. They'd not wasted the opportunity. Ross considered it a matter of honor that he not leave it as it was in the first instance. He resolved to treat Elizabeth properly after his beginning with her. He'd used her badly and it would not do to leave it there. He was contrite once the red mist of his anger subsided. This blossomed into some of the best sex either of them ever had. Ross sighed and Elizabeth could hear lament in it. Her husband was gone but Demelza was in Nampara with her young son, their second child after Ross and Dem had lost a daughter. Elizabeth did not want guilt to taint them. This was beyond Francis, beyond Ross' little child bride. This was about Ross and Liza and that's how it should stay. "No, Ross. It's too late for that..." He nodded. Ross sighed again. "Yes," he stroked her back, absently. How would Dem react? She seemed to intuit that it would come to this...Would she accept it? Would she forgive it? "The deed is done..." sighed Ross, "There is a devil in me that makes me do and say the wrong things where you're concerned." Elizabeth smiled. She resolved to make Ross forget his misgivings. "That devil is in me too..."

Ross left around 4:30 in the morning. He had to leave before the servants were about. Elizabeth rolled over and closed her eyes. The rest she was about to succumb to suddenly jolted away. There was work to be done. She opened the window wider, to air the room. It smelled like a brothel. She could not have people in here today. She retrieved her dressing gown from the chair by her bed, pale yellow silk with a hem of painted irises, and slipped her feet into dark purple velvet slippers- proper flats with a back on them. She had a horror of bare feet, it was vulgar to go around like that. One mark against Ross, for Elizabeth, in his habits at Nampara with his little hippie wife...Elizabeth walked through the house, drifting through all the grand, well appointed halls and rooms to the more modest areas and the kitchen. It was still dark, though the sunlight was starting to bloom on the horizon in the small windows of this 17th century part of the house. She made camomile tea and, as it steeped, she went about her task. First, she was unwell. The cook should manage breakfast for Geoffrey Charles and Elizabeth would not be down. She left a note for Mrs. Tabb, in her elegant handwriting, that she was not to be disturbed today and she would be down for dinner, having taken her rest during the day. She left a note for Geoffrey's nanny to look after him until they met at the evening meal. She sweetened the pot by leaving extra money in an envelope, they could go to the tea shop this afternoon. She swanned about the kitchen, discarded the camomile flowers and brought the tea back to her room. It still smelled of sex. She sat the tea on her dressing table and went back through the house. She was hurrying now. She must get back to her room, unseen, by six. She rummaged through the cupboards and pulled out clean sheets for her bed, patting the ones that remained back into tidiness. She could not have the servants strip her bed as it was now, the sheets must be changed. But she had until dinner to curl back into them before that happened. She sat at her dressing table and drank her tea in the contentment of reviewing previous events. She shed her robe, set her slippers by her bed and crawled back into her bed, nude, curled into the sheets and lay there, sniffing her own bed like a young dog, drowsing in the scent of Ross and the fury of their passion. She rolled around, she touched herself, she felt drunk on the power she chose to wield. At length, she slept. Trenwith would wake around her, this hive in which she was queen. The workers would cycle through their tasks and do her bidding as she lay abed, dreaming- asleep and awake, for madame was indisposed today.

Elizabeth est mort. Vive Liza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fascination, David Bowie 1975
> 
> Fascination  
> Take a part of me  
> Can a heart beat live in a fever, raging inside of me  
> Fascination takes a part of me, I can't help it  
> Got to use her, every time, every time, every time, got to use her
> 
> Mods and Rockers  
> Scores of youths have been given prison sentences following a Whitsun weekend of violent clashes between gangs of Mods and Rockers at a number of resorts on the south coast of England.  
> Yesterday two youths were taken to hospital with knife wounds and 51 were arrested in Margate after hundreds of teenagers converged on the town for the holiday weekend.  
> Dr George Simpson, chairman of Margate magistrates, jailed four young men and imposed fines totalling £1,900 on 36 people.  
> Three offenders were jailed for three months each and five more sent to detention centres for up to six months. - from BBC archive
> 
> Mods were into R&B and Jazz, looking fashionable with a nod to France and Italy and often got around on Lambretta or Vespa scooters. Rockers were into rockabilly and motorcycles, black leather, studs and a bit aggressive. After the Bank Holiday Riots of 1965 the newspapers ran gleeful stories about the rivalry and violence between the Mods and the Rockers. The summary could also be seen in the worst sort of bad taste. 'Ball' is an old slang verb for sex. The 'Mods and Rockers Ball', was Jane Holzer's 24th birthday party in New York in 1965. Her party was also the after party for the Rolling Stones, having performed in NYC that night with the band in attendance and all of them going to The Brasserie after that, to keep partying. Jane was Andy Warhol's companion and 'girl of the year' in 1965.
> 
> Ross was an early Mod, years before the riots, and did not own a scooter but, if he did, it would have been a Lambretta... :)
> 
> 'Liza with a Z' - Liza Minnelli had a concert filmed in 1972 with a song of the same title explaining how to pronounce her name, in a humorous way, because people often called her Lisa.


	4. A Woman Left Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 10, 1975
> 
> Original sin

Demelza made a cheerful game of bathing Jeremy in a metal washtub on the kitchen floor, with Garrick dozing nearby. Jeremy, enjoying the novelty of this little tub, meant for laundry rather than little boys, splashed his hands in the water around him and laughed with glee as the surface of the water went in all directions. She focused on smiling. She focused on her son's face. She set aside the fact that she was kneeling on the kitchen floor like a scullery maid because Ross was slumped next to the bathtub upstairs and could not be roused.  
She sat outside the bathroom door, hating Ross and worrying over him by turns. Dem had hit him and she felt guilty over it, for all she was still angry. He retreated to the bathroom and refused to come out-so she thought. She knocked on the door and heard nothing. Demelza tried the doorknob. the door was not locked. "Ross?" She opened the door and was struck dumb.  
A slim length of rubber tubing lay, like a dead snake on the tiled floor. Ross sat on the floor, up against the bathtub. Asleep? She came closer and knelt by him. His eye was blackened. She had done that to him, so angered that he would cheat on her at all, but also to do it with the one person in this world she feared most-Elizabeth. He looked frozen. Motionless. At first, she feared he was dead. His eyes were not properly closed, he stared out at nothing. "Ross?" Shaking his shoulder, looking intently at his face, his unseeing eyes. On the floor, between him and the tub was a syringe. Dem stood up, abruptly and stumbled backwards against the sink.  
The first she'd heard of Ross being a drug addict was the trial. The fact that he had been a registered addict was brought up in evidence. It had been an attempt to damage his defense, and while it hurt Ross' reputation, and that of his band, Resurgam, bandied about in the newspapers, it backfired in court. It was seen as a mark in his favor by the jury because the government's own records showed that Ross had ceased to avail himself of his prescriptions in 1964. She remembered realizing, with a start, in court, that meant he had given up drugs when she came to live at Nampara...  
Her husband was sat on the floor in front of her. She could do nothing. She could say nothing. She had no way of reaching him. Demelza went back downstairs. Jeremy was playing with toys on the floor of the parlor...their little boy... Her vision blurred with tears. Was it some cruel joke of fate that you end up marrying what you most want to escape? She did not want to try to shepherd her child through drugs the way her mother tried to shepherd her and her brothers through her father's alcoholism. Ross seemed to be drowning in mistakes and Demelza did not want to be chained to him while he flailed, for her son's sake.  
She dried her son, got him ready for bed and settled him to sleep. She rubbed his back a little and waited for him to drop off. Ordinarily, she sang Jeremy to sleep but it felt as if grief had closed her throat. After Jeremy was put to bed, Demelza stomped down into what had been a stillroom but now held odds and ends. Then stomped through the house clutching one of the old camp beds and let it fall with an unceremonious clatter to the library floor. She stared at it, dully, for a time and then returned to the kitchen. She struggled to pour the water out of Jeremy's basin-not because it was heavy, but because her arms were shaking. Her anger was like a live thing and she tried to regain some control over herself as her vision continued to blur with tears. Demelza paced about the kitchen and, without conscious thought, started mixing bread dough. She wanted to do something, anything to stop her arms from shaking. She made bread so often, she did not need to consult a recipe. She prepared the dough and turned it out of the bowl, on the table. As she kneaded the dough, she recalled Christmas, after the trial, when Francis was still alive. The seeds of destruction were planted by Ross and Elizabeth, both, that night.  
Francis was always kind to Dem. Elizabeth was polite, she only showed her displeasure in Dem when Elizabeth, inadvertently, came to Nampara to see Ross on the same morning they had made love -the very first time they had made love, rolling around and even sleeping overnight in the Long Field and having one more go of it before they returned to the house, still teasing each other and happy. Elizabeth was disgusted by them, and had no qualms in looking at Dem as if she was nothing. Dem could see, as Elizabeth looked her up and down, that she thought she was a grubby little slag. Ross had defended their love then...they had so much love then...Dem gave the dough in front of her a little punch. Time had passed. They had drowned in all manner of bad luck...by that Christmas, perhaps Ross felt that too...maybe she was just a grubby little kid he'd stumbled upon...maybe returning to his own sort, the posh sort of girl Elizabeth was, gentry, like Ross was, made better sense to him...even having gone to Hempel, the gentry girl's school, never made Dem a lady...Dem sighed. Elizabeth set her cap at Ross that Christmas night, in spite of Francis or Dem. Long after dinner ended and they were meant to stay over in Trenwith for the night, Demelza went downstairs to see if Elizabeth needed help clearing up. Mrs. Tabb, the housekeeper, had hurt her arm. Perhaps Ross was already helping too, he had not come upstairs to their room. As she got closer to the kitchen, she could hear Ross and Elizabeth talking. She quieted her footfall and drew nearer without them hearing her. "I didn't realize you were still up..." said Ross. Elizabeth sighed. "Mrs. Tabb has hurt her arm. Most of the servants are away for their own Christmases, I can't expect her to do everything. I'll only be a half hour at the most..." Ross smiled. "A quarter, if you're helped..." Demelza watched them moving plates and things about. It was homey and disorienting too. They were at ease in each other's company in a way Dem had not seen before. "You're looking well..." said Elizabeth. "So are you." said Ross. Elizabeth chuckled. "I begin to feel a little old..." "Nonsense!" said Ross with a sort of mirth in his voice that made Dem anxious. Elizabeth spoke again. "Your marriage seems so happy. Is it?" Ross spoke wistfully. "I wonder if anybody is ever truly happy..." Demelza put her hands over her mouth, stared at Ross, horrified. Her heart went cold, briefly. She was astonished by his glum reply. Elizabeth demurred, did not press Ross to explain further but had a disconcerting smile as she was turned away from Ross at the sink. The cat that got the cream..."Could you open that cupboard please?" Ross opened a cupboard over the sink. As Elizabeth set some dishes in it, Ross put his free hand about her waist. Dem held her breath, the nervous feeling in her stomach trebled. Elizabeth paused, the slight tilt of her head..."I do begin to feel old. I'm a lot older than when we first met..." Ross had the sort of mischievous smile that Dem liked best. A playful little smile, a teasing smile, the sort of smile that promised a kiss...Towards her... "You've grown up since we first met but you're hardly old!" They paused. He kissed her. Or she kissed him. Or, without a jot of thought spared for their spouses, they both kissed each other. It was brief but there was clearly passion in it...the test...? Testing the water...? They chuckled a bit and stepped apart. They carried on talking. Demelza wanted the ground to swallow her up. "I think I'm beginning to look old as well." Dem became vexed, angry. Elizabeth was trying to get Ross to kiss her again. "Then your mirror is a liar..." Demelza felt defeated when Ross kissed Elizabeth but now a little spark of resistance flared up in her. "Mirrors always are." said Dem, in a cold, dispassionate voice.They turned to see her, surprised to see her in the kitchen doorway. Demelza turned on her heel and walked out of Trenwith. She stalked up the drive. She hadn't taken her coat. She didn't want to stay one minute longer. Headlights lit up the road behind her. Ross drove up along side her. He rolled the window down. "Dem!" Demelza strode away, further up the road. Ross came up along side her again. "Demelza, get in the car!" She peered into the car but did not open the door. It was drizzling and she found it hard to tell which were teardrops and which were rain on her hands. "What did you mean? 'Is anybody ever truly happy?'!" "Dem..." "I thought we were h-happy!" Demelza's note of hysteria as she started crying in earnest...Ross got out of the car and came around to her side. He tried to hold her but she turned away from him, slapped at his hands, batted his hands away. "Don't!" she shrieked. She walked away. "Dem, please!" Ross followed her up the road. "Please, Dem, get in the car! It's dark, you could hurt yourself! Come back!" She stopped. She was heartbroken but she also knew she was pregnant again. She should not walk home, in the dark of night, in December, in the rain with no coat. Dem wanted this baby even if Ross didn't want either of them.

They drove home in silence. The readied themselves for bed in silence. They got under the covers and Ross hesitated to touch her. He wasn't sure what to say to explain himself. He knew her feelings were hurt. he had no idea she had been standing behind them. Demelza spoke up, into the canopy of their bed. "The first Christmas we went to Trenwith, you wouldn't have so much as looked at another woman..." Ross felt irritated at that. "What man doesn't, occasionally, look at another woman...?" Dem sniffled. "I thought you loved me!" Ross turned towards her, in the dark. "I do love you!" she started crying. "How could you kiss her!" Ross closed his eyes. Dem's tears and broken little whine of protest made him feel ashamed of himself. Ross looked contrite but said, "The past. Sometimes it comes back..."  
Demelza, still laying on her back, put her hands over her eyes and cried harder. Ross gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "I love you..." Ross turned to face her and let his hand skim over her arm. He let his hand fall on her belly and rubbed gently there. Dem closed her eyes, still crying, she felt Ross' hand on her and felt desolate. She wanted life to be different. She wanted a world where Julia was still alive and Ross' love surrounded her like sunlight. She wanted the things that used to be true. Used to be real. They had a lovely, loving little baby girl and Ross loved Demelza with a fierce, playful, carnal, wonderful sort of love that was true. He was true to her. It wasn't a dream or a wish, it was how life used it be..."Demelza..." Ross' fingers drifted lower. "I'm pregnant." she whispered, glumly. "What?!" His hand froze over her mound. "I'm pregnant." she said it louder, but no less glum. She could feel his careful appraisal, his hand slowly feeling over her and the taut little bump, just perceptible. "Since when?" Ross sounded struck with wonder or afraid. She couldn't tell which. "September." He lifted himself up on his elbow. "Why didn't you say so before now?" He leaned forward over her, perplexed. "You said you didn't want it!" She cried harder and curled onto her side, into a little ball. She wanted to disappear. "Oh, Dem..." Ross cursed himself, inwardly. He had said he did not want children, but it was grief over Julia, not the truth of the matter. Why was he constantly making things worse? "I did say that I didn't want more children, but, if one is coming, that's different..." Demelza pressed her forehead against her knees and felt Ross, warm and the prickle of his hair against her as he drew her into his arms. He whispered, his face nestled close to her, "We'll have our happiness again, Dem. I promise..."

Demelza started to pummel the dough as if she wanted to do it harm. She might as well asked for the moon on a plate for all Ross' pretty words. Francis died. Elizabeth kept leaning on Ross, needing this, needing that. He was forever going to Trenwith, helping his cousin' widow as Dem kept house and watched money that should have stayed at Nampara float over to Trenwith like dandelion clocks. Even then, she felt that Ross wouldn't break his vows. Forsake all others...The idea of Elizabeth marrying George Warleggan was too much for Ross to cope with, she supposed. Did he even love Elizabeth? Or was he so incensed that Francis had her and now George...? Ross might have marked his 'territory' like a dog would...Dem never felt she could measure up to Elizabeth. She had been a stainless ideal the entire time she'd known Ross. Even before he married her. Dem knew Elizabeth had been his first love and it twisted through him like a thorn covered vine. Unshakable and impossible to remove without tearing him up inside. And now he had her... A new layer of worry emerged. What if Demelza was now and forever second best? She had only ever been with Ross. What if sex with Elizabeth was better to him? What if he grew tired of their life at Nampara. Would he leave and take up with Elizabeth in Trenwith? Would Elizabeth even want him if he was using again? Demelza couldn't pick up the pieces, even if she wanted to. It was down to Ross. Ross had to decide what path all three of them stumbled down. Dem needed space. She did not want to sit meekly in Nampara, waiting for the hammer to fall. She did not want to be so close and see Ross go back to her. She really didn't want to run into Elizabeth either, and see her gloat, oh yes, she would gloat...'go home little girl, little slag, go away, you're not needed'...She stilled over the dough. 'The flat! I'll stay at the flat...' "The flat" was actually a three flat house Ross had in London. It had been owned on his mother's side. It was where Demelza first met Ross and they stayed there when he needed to be in London. She would give herself that space while Ross tried to right himself or destroy their marriage. It was his choice to make. She would keep Jeremy safe from too much sadness. She grew up hearing and watching her parents fight and she didn't want that for Jeremy. She could ask Jinny to stay, maybe even get to know London better. It would work. And, perhaps, it wouldn't take Ross long to come to a decision, mend his ways...maybe things would turn out alright.

Ross had been sick, it seemed. He could smell it as he rested his cheek against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. He felt his gorge rise again and struggled to aim at the toilet. The street heroin he'd fixed up with was not Her Majesty's finest. God only knows what it was cut with...His eye ached as he rinsed his face with water at the sink. He looked in the mirror and recalled that Dem had backhanded him, blackened his eye. He recalled that he deserved it...Ross had been perversely grateful to be on a nod. Left in a twilight stupor where he'd not wronged Dem, had not wronged Elizabeth, where his grief for Julia could not follow him, where the laundry list of futile mistakes and willful destructiveness could not touch him. But he knew that could not last. He thought, ruefully, that he had kicked when Demelza came to live at Nampara to avoid what was coming to pass right now. There was no way to be clever about it, at close quarters, the truth will out. He remembered telling Dwight and Ned at that time, "I didn't take her from her father to turn her into a junkie..." He had been clean. He had been happy. He had turned his back on his destructive habits. Ross realized he'd disregarded both Dem and his own son in his selfish desire to shut down. He was going to have to make things right. Jeremy would have a father that he could love and look up to...

As Ross approached the kitchen, he could hear an odd slapping noise. Rather than the methodical kneading Dem usually employed, she was practically pummeling the dough and smacking it back down in aggression. When he entered, he stopped and leaned on the doorway, Ross, was annoyed, he could not focus, he was still fucked up, still out of it...He shook his head, tried to clear it and Dem stared at him. Ross was logy and seemed to need to doorjamb to hold him up. Ross waited. Dem was looking at him, stricken, ashen and very, very angry. "Ross! What is wrong with you?! Why are you doing this?!" She thumped her fist on the table." Do you think Jeremy wants a smack head for a father?!" Ross twisted his head along the side of the doorway. Looked away, ashamed. "How could you?! You barely escaped a false drugs charge and now you're actually using and fucking Elizabeth and not giving a damn about me!" She started to sob. She put a tea towel against her eyes, to dry her tears and then looked at Ross, really looked at him. He turned towards her again and they stared at each other. She had blackened his eye. She hurt him. She hurt Ross the way Pa often hurt her and her family. Jeremy was going to see that she hurt his Papa... Ross watched her, trying to think of anything to say, praying he would not nod out and make her angrier. He had no defense of himself and they both knew it. "I never said I was perfect..." Ross' voice was so quiet and sorrowful, it broke Dem's heart. Dem was distressed to see him. He looked at her but seemed somewhere else. His hair fell across his face as he spoke and even raising his hand to push his hair back seemed like a struggle for him. She tried to answer, but started crying again. "Ross..." she bent her head down and started crying. She was no better than Pa... Her hair fell forward and her shoulders shook from it. She could not look up. "I never asked you to be perfect!" She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and started keening, she was no better than she ought to be...maybe this was all they ever were, a tearaway and a slag, him acting out, no better than his father and she, retaliating, no better than hers..."Dem...Dem, please...I'm sorry..." Ross found it difficult to stand, he weaved a little, he wanted to hold her but he was frightened he might fall. He held the doorjamb as he, slowly, slid to the floor and sat down. With his eyes closed he could hear Dem weeping and feel his life falling apart. "Dem..." She quieted herself, for Jeremy might wake if she kept on. She looked at Ross, both of them fallen lower than she could have imagined possible. She took a deep breath. She had to look after Jeremy..."Ross." He looked up. "I'm going to live at the flat. I'm taking Jeremy with me. I'm going to ask Jinny to stay with us and I'm not coming back until you sort yourself out." Ross blinked slowly. "You're leaving me..?" Dem closed her eyes. Elizabeth seemed to be the least of their problems now... "Yes, Ross. When you get yourself better, when you decide what you...want, we will come..." Dem started tearing up again. "We'll come h-home..." Ross started to cry. Nodded his head 'yes' and then put his hands over his eyes. Dem, sullen and tired, put the dough in the refrigerator and went out. She had to step over Ross to do so, for he nodded out. She remembered, in retrospect, Ross had done that when they first met. She hadn't known it was drugs and he quit soon after, but she had seen him like this before. She sighed. In her anger, she left the camp bed on the floor for him to sort out. Now, terribly ashamed over hitting him and worried he'd be too out of it to manage, she set the cot up and made it up with sheets and a pillow. She checked on Jeremy, still asleep. She got ready for bed and started to think what she should pack. It shouldn't be more than a few weeks...she'd pack for a month, and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Woman Left Lonely, Janis Joplin 1971
> 
> A woman left lonely will soon grow tired of waiting,  
> She'll do crazy things, yeah, on lonely occasions.  
> A simple conversation for the new men now and again  
> Makes a touchy situation when a good face come into your head.  
> And when she gets lonely, she's thinking 'bout her man,  
> She knows he's taking her for granted, yeah yeah,  
> Honey, she doesn't understand, no no no no!  
> Well, the fevers of the night, they burn an unloved woman  
> Yeah, those red-hot flames try to push old love aside.  
> A woman left lonely, she's the victim of her man, yes she is.  
> When he can't keep up his own way  
> She's got to do the best that she can


	5. We're Going Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somethin' be rotten in the state o' Denmark...

Having been asked not to come in the day before was strange enough. Today, the Paynters arrived, as they usually did, to strange goings on indeed. They entered the front hall to see Ross, glowering as he walked with a shiner, a black eye. "'Ere, Ee bin brawlin'?" asked Jud. Ross said nothing. He shut himself up in the library and that was all they saw of him that day. A cheerful, sunny greeting from the top of the stairs. "Pu-dee!" She smiled up at Jeremy as Jud went to the kitchen. She watched him trot down the stairs to her. "G'mor'ing, Master Jeremy!" As she bent down to pick him up for a hug, she got a strong noseful of stale urine. "Lord above! Ee be wet as a pilchard! Where be yer mothur?" Jeremy smiled. "N'bed!" Prudie sighed. Let's get ee cleaned up, lad..." The bathroom bore signs of Jeremy's adventure with his potty sitting on the floor in a puddle of urine. "I go'ed!" he said, proudly. "Aye," said Prudie, drily. "That I d'see..." She ran a couple inches of warm water in the bath and let Jeremy splash and play in it as she retrieved rubber gloves from under the sink and tided the bathroom.  
Jud found the kitchen deserted. Not strange. Not odd. Garrick sat in wait by a bowl with no water in it. Very odd. Quite strange. Jud filled the water bowl and gave the dog a thwack on the flanks. Garrick barked his appreciation. Jud went in search of Prudie. Prudie was walking a clean and tidy Jeremy down the steps as Jud whispered up the banister to her. "Garrick ain't had no water..." Prudie frowned as Jeremy reached the bottom step and stood along side her, smiling at Jud. Jud smiled back, through he was ill at ease. "The lad be wet through an' through. D'say Dem's abed..." They were puzzled but, first things first. Jud made the rounds, checking the grounds outside as Prudie brought Jeremy to the kitchen. She scrambled him an egg and made a piece of toast-one half buttered, one half butter and strawberry jam-and poured a small cup of milk. "'Ere, Jeremy, 'ave yer breakie." She sat, waiting for Jud to return. "Ee sit wi' the little'un. I'll see wha be ailin' Dem."

Prudie knocked on the bedroom door. Nothing. Prudie tried the door and opened it. In a little hump, under the bedclothes, lay her mistress. "Dem?" She might have been dead for all the response this produced. Prudie came to stand by the master bed, an old, carved, four poster bed, with a canopy top, the frame as old as the house. "What's to do? Master Jeremy be roamin' about wi' 'is britches wet through!" Demelza curled up into a tighter ball. Prudie tried again. "Ross be fightin'...? In Sawle?" Demelza's crying could be heard under the blankets. Prudie lay her hand on what she assumed was Dem's back. "What's amiss? Wha 'appened?!" Dem could not face it today, she was too sad. She pulled the covers away from her face and Prudie looked, totally befuddled, at Dem's tear stained, red eyed face. "P-prudie...could you keep Jeremy with you tonight?" Prudie's eyebrows went up. "Aye, maid. Ee want for us to take 'im now?" Dem nodded 'yes'. Something was wrong. Something was wrong between Ross and Dem but Prudie could not work out what it was. Did someone insult Dem? Ross, ever a hothead, layed into 'em, like?...Why should that be so bad...? "Aye, maid. We'll give 'im 'is supper an' all. Don't ee worry fer tha." Dem put her head back under the covers. "T-thank you, Prudie." Prudie frowned. "Demelzee," Dem's head popped back out and she looked to Prudie, wide eyed. She could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times Prudie used her full name. Prudie looked at her, sternly. "We's takin' the lad an' we'll bring 'im back in the morn. I's leavin' ee be t'day, maid, but tomorrow, be it you or Ross, one of ee's gonna 'ave't tell we wha do go on, ee hear?" Dem blinked, swallowed. The Paynters deserved answers. "Yes, Prudie."

Prudie found Jud sitting with Jeremy in the parlor with children's cartoons on the television. She beckoned him over to her and they whispered in the hall. "Eh?!" exclaimed Jud. "Aye," said Prudie. "Did Ross say aught to ee?" asked Prudie. Jud shook his head, shrugged. "Ain't see'd hide nor hair of 'im!" Jud was mystified. "She want for us to look after Garrick an' all?" he asked. Prudie shook her head 'no'. "Nay, but we'll leave 'im 'is food afore we go. They's ain't fit fer nothin' t'day..."  
Prudie gathered some clothes-pajamas and clean clothes for the next day, the same sort of plastic pants that were meant to spare his clothes from accidents but were defeated today by Jeremy having been unattended this morning. She went the get some cloth diapers. Even though he should stick to learning to use the potty, she didn't have the energy to manage that at her house. They'd hosted Ross as a child and his late younger brother, Claude. So long ago. Running around after these Poldarks, all these years...

"Alright, Jud Paynter?" asked the butcher. "Aye, tha I am. Be needin' six a yer best bangers, please." As they went through brief errands, in aid of their supper- the butcher for sausages, the greengrocer for apples and cabbage- the Paynters heard no tales of Ross getting into a scrape. The black eye had not been obtained in Sawle, at least...  
Having hosted many a young Poldark, and even Dem, on weekends when Ross was away on tour, The Paynters knew what they were about. Two dinning room chairs were transformed with a quilt into a cozy den. A warmed slice of teacake, studded with raisins and dried cherries graced the table with a cup of milk, to fuel more play in the back garden, a handkerchief sized plot, behind the house. They kept up with his toilet training during the day but Prudie resolved to diaper him for the night. He might even stay dry overnight but she knew she couldn't wake to tend him. How much longer could they mind little'uns proper? She thought, glumly. She felt her age today. The Poldarks would have to find someone younger, especially if they had another.  
They had a nice supper. Jeremy had his sausage cut into manageable chunks with mashed potatoes and fine shreds of green cabbage, softened in hot butter and salted and peppered to a tastiness with apple crumble for afters. After the meal, they sat, contented, in the parlor. The radio played the older songs the Paynters favored and Jeremy played with the same set of wooden skittles that his father and uncle had used. They were painted to look like toy soldiers. They had jaunty red and white for their uniform coats, black circles for eyes, round as lollypops, and a red smile like a crescent moon on its side. Having lost the ball that went with them, years ago now, Jeremy made a success of them by rolling a lemon at them. He squealed with the same delighted squeals as Ross and Claude had done. Jeremy enjoyed setting them up and knocking them down. They weren't hurt at all. They lay on their backs in happiness. One could imagine them saying, "Gosh! That was jolly good fun! Shall we try again?"  
Jud patted Jeremy's head and wished him good night. Prudie helped him ready for bed and the diaper was employed for insurance. He was tucked into bed, on which a rubber sheet protected the mattress. He yawned, having had a pleasant day of make believe and loving care. "G'night, Pu-dee..." Prudie turned out the lamp and kissed his forehead. "Night, night, luv."  
She returned to the parlor. Jud sat, pipe unlit in his hand, looking over the side of his armchair at the skittles on the carpet. Little, red coated soldiers staring up or off to the side, smiling at things unseen, as they lay on the floor. Having been used by the kiddies over the years, chips of paint had been knocked off in places. Jud frowned at one in the center of them all with a chunk of paint missing by its eye. "Ross be lookin' shifty...There be a cot in the library, tha I d'see...' Jud no longer saw a smiling, lollypop eyed soldier. He saw Ross, unconscious in the grass in front of the gatehouse.  
"Jud?" asked Prudie. He seemed to be fretting over the skittles.

"Layin' thur wi' 'is face damn near cut in 'alf, bleedin'...'

"Jud?"

'Clothes as like to stand up by 'emselves fer the filth in 'em...'

"Jud...?"

'An the state of the gatehouse, little better than a cage in a zoo...'

"Jud!"

He looked to Prudie. He sat back, against the back of the armchair. He tried to smile, apologetically, but it did not reach his eyes. "Sorry, luv. I were miles away..." Prudie frowned. "What's to do?" Jud sighed, forlorn. "Ee knows how Ross an' Dem be, proper sweet'arts..." She nodded. Jud looked unhappy. "Ross 'ould 'ave gotten 'imself into a rare mess fer Dem to kick 'im outta bed..." Prudie's eyes widened. "EH?!" Jud nodded, glumly. "There be a cot in the library, saw it m'self..." He continued. "Wha if Ross be back on them drugs?" Prudie stilled. They shared all the ups and downs of life but Jud declined to explain the period, come to be known in the Paynters' household as 'tha business wi' Ross'. She saw it upset Jud, pained him, but she did not pry. Prudie sighed. You can't help loving, can you? Day after day, with the same people around you, even if they aren't truly family, you love them, all the same...the Nampara Poldarks were hard work, from time back, but the Paynters had affection for them all-their original employers, Joshua and Grace and now Ross' family. Among them, Ross had been longest in their charge and they did love the Poldark's young tearaway, very much. Jud sighed. "Wha'll us do if 'e be back on them drugs...?" Prudie came to his side and put her arms around Jud as he sat in the chair. He put his arms around her and closed his eyes. He felt old and lost, nervous and afraid, but Prudie was ever wonderful...a true love...Prudie stroked his back gently. "Ah, Jud Paynter, we do wha we's always done, luv. We looks after 'em."

The next day, Ross was away from home. In a few, terse, sentences, Dem informed the Paynters that it was she who blackened Ross' eye after he had it off with the Widow Trenwith-Elizabeth Poldark, Chynoweth that was- and that Ross did indeed, return to using them drugs. The Paynters were struck dumb. Dem did not know were Ross was. She resumed her responsibilities to Jeremy and Garrick in tired melancholy. Dem asked Jud if he would help her drive to the flat in London. She would not be keeping the car and it had to be driven back. She would not go with Ross. Jud agreed. Prudie would stay at Nampara until Jud returned. In that way, they could both keep an eye on both their charges.  
Servitude is a subtle thing. Jud and Prudie had no real claim on Ross and Dem, they worked in the house, from time back, along side the family. The Paynters had some 'parental' rights over the Poldarks, over the years. They wielded a shepherd's crook from time to time, watched them grow, watched them change, watched them fall in love, watched them struggle, all with the affection one would have for a child. Ross and Dem were grown now. They had children of their own, Jeremy and their poor chibby, Julia, she they lost. They had to tend their own life. the Paynters felt it better to resist inserting themselves into the rupture in the Poldark household. Tend them, care for them, but stay well clear. Let them sort themselves out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're Going Wrong, Cream 1967


	6. Bro Goth Agan Tasow (Old Land Of My Fathers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost Souls
> 
> Trigger warning: The sub chapter song, Heroin, by The Velvet Underground, has lyrics that are graphic and reference using heroin from the perspective of an unrepentant user. For that reason, the lyrics are not included in the story the way some other songs have been in this series. Use your own judgement if you chose to search the song or the lyrics.

I. Heroin

In his previous period of addiction, Ross had few qualms about using the veins in his arms. Now, in a concession to privacy and, perhaps, vanity, Ross spared his arms and used the veins in his feet. Prudie, who had the misfortune of passing the library doorway as he leaned over his knees, seated on the cot, fixing up, looked on in horrified fascination. When he sat up and saw her standing there, his eyes were already unfocused. They stayed like that for a minute. Ross' hair hung over one eye and his other looked on in soft focus at Prudie as she twisted her mouth in dismay. She turned away and left. Ross lay back on the cot and resumed his torpor.  
The Paynters were at a loss to know what to do. He'd done this before and should know better. He was sneakier about it then. He had enough sense to try and be circumspect for Dem's sake, she being so young when she first came to live at Nampara. He'd gone back to London too. Away from home, doing heaven knows what...He came back and, with Jud's assistance, stopped his bad behavior- not without cost. Prudie thought back to Jud's tearful distress when Ross marred his face to the degree he did. The scar still showed, even as it healed proper. It looked terrible. It's funny what one can get used to, though...the scar became part of his face over time. He looked like the old men who drank at Sally's Chill Off, a long time back now, when Prudie was young. The old sailors and miners who looked little better than pirates, missing fingers, deep scars, even missing whole hands or part of a leg to Her Majesty's Navy or the old workings in the mines here about. Scarred and damaged...Ross should not have that scar. He came too damn close to losing an eye, and for what? Ross didn't even know how he had done it.  
Prudie sat at the kitchen table, forlorn. Ross was sensitive but he was also prideful. This was a destructive combination when he found reason to be upset. He was quite like the old men in the kiddleys. Drink to forget. Stuff the pain away. Drink the pain away. Drown it. Don't matter if there are suffering wives and littte'uns at home...Don't matter if you ruin your own health in the process. Reach for what comfort there was to be found in a bottle or, in Ross' case, a needle. Prudie washed what dishes were in the sink and sat down with a cup of tea. What is it about the menfolk that pushes them into this sorry cycle? Would she even be in service if her Pa hadn't drunk away good money that could have bought food, bought shoes, bought the stuff of life that keeps you respectable? Ross and Dem rolled their eyes, sometimes, over Prudie's insistence on 'bein' respectable, lookin' respectable'. But that's all you have, sometimes. Pa broke Ma's heart over and over with drink, but they loved each other til the day they died and raised Prudie in a loving home, in spite of the rows, in spite of the tears. You could see he was sorry for it, sorry he couldn't change. Pa was a problem that way. You'd as like to brain him with a frying pan as hug him. And he was that sorry if you did yell at him, you felt badly, you wanted to apologize, til the next time... He couldn't help drinking, couldn't help letting them down, you couldn't stay mad because you could see he was contrite. He couldn't help making you despair. He couldn't help melting your heart with a handful of flowers or a song, of an evening, when his voice was clear and you could hear the love in it either...He was a good man with a weakness for drink. He was a good father, good to Prudie. Called her his pride, the one thing in the world he'd done right, his blessing, for him and their hometown. "Ee be tha Pride o Mansanvose, Prudence..." She stood a little taller from it. She carried herself with more confidence, spoke her mind-put on airs, some said- "Wha Prudie be so 'igh n mighty for? 'Er pa's just as drunk as anyone's..." Prudie believed her Pa. She'd even toss her hair at the fellas, walking arm in arm with her cousins and girlfriends, flirting, "I be the Pride o Mansanvose!" She had her pick of them all but was wary of the smooth 'andsomes that promised her the moon. She wouldn't end up like Ma. She wanted a good'un. Pa drank himself to death but he loved her and bade her, as did her mother, not to waste herself on no drunks, find a good'un...and she did. Jud's parents were drunk insensible at the end of each day. He knew the danger and heartache of it just as much as Prudie. Wary of it, careful of it. Jud held his drink but was just as happy with a lemonade, never abstained, but never let himself get caught in it's teeth. He was as careful of drink as she was and a right good'un, a good man. He looked after his parents til, they too drank themselves to their end. The old folk had it harder on the land-in the mines, or trying to farm the rocky soil or the sea be they fisher folk or navy lads. A hard life in this Western land. Cornwall could puff you up with pride just as much as it could break you. Ross was broken. He was gentry, through and through, but just as lost as many a common, working man round here. Too stuck inside themselves to pay mind to others and too lovable to abandon.  
Prudie lifted the lid and looked inside the tin on the table. One last currant bun. There was little reason to bake with Dem and the little'un away. She would split it and toast it, butter it and hope for the best. Ross wasn't eating like he should. She'd still offer him tea, though. Little enough, to keep a bit in his stomach, get a bit of butter in him...The old folk had it harder but the young men found their reasons to act out as the mines closed, the fish stocks keep dwindling, harder to keep hold of a living. They found their own reasons to blot out their heartache and, like any other time, the women picked up the pieces, cared for the children, magicked their own solutions and temporary aids, push on, push through, for someone had to. Much like the tide...the tide rushes in, the tide rushes out and, after a time, the little'un on your parlor floor is the son of the little'un that sat there years before...

II. How Deep It Goes

Ross picked at a currant bun. It was sweet and crisp, hot and buttered and quite delicious, but he was too glum to have much of an appetite. He forced himself to eat more of it. He could feel Prudie's eyes on him. He felt he was letting her down by not eating it up. He let everyone down. Ned was drumming for another band, Dwight was not interested in playing bass for anyone. Ross slept with Elizabeth, forced himself on Elizabeth, when he should have left her alone. He broke his vow to Dem, the one person in this world he should honor the most. Her absence was pain and relief in equal measure. She was not here to look at him as Prudie had done. Jeremy would not see his smack head father...his smack head father...'I'll kick,' thought Ross. 'I did it before. If I've gotten so sloppy that Prudie saw...I must kick...Jeremy mustn't...'  
Prudie peered at Ross from the stove. He'd nodded out over his tea. She sighed. It wasn't worth toasting that bun again. The butter would melt but the bread would turn hard. He put a few mouthfuls away, at least... You could have your heart swole to the size of Hendrawna Beach hearing a bunch of working men sing Trelawny or Bro Goth Agan Tasow and have it break again when, to a man, they turn back to the bar and be drinkin' to the ruin of their families. The young'uns sing it in English these days...'old land of our fathers, your children love you...' Prudie did not take the plate away, though she'd be damned if Ross slurped down cold tea while she was still here to serve it hot. She got a fresh cup and saucer, put the used one, tea and all, in the sink and then sat back down. Her chair was by the stove. Something in her could not bear sitting at the table. Waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bro Goth Agan Tasow (Old Land Of Our Fathers)
> 
> Heroin, The Velvet Underground 1967
> 
> How Deep It Goes, Heart 1975  
> In the quiet afternoon you left and went down into town  
> And I just watched the empty road behind you  
> Where the fog lies kissing the mountainside  
> You want to be sleeping, deep inside  
> Believing that the hungry world won't find you  
> Well, that's just fine, that's just fine  
> You've got to believe and I don't know, I don't know  
> What I believe anymore  
> Or whether to leave, or whether to stay  
> Or what I can say  
> To make you know  
> How deep it goes
> 
> Cornwall has no legally designated anthem. Trelawny-Song Of The Western Men and Bro Goth Agan Tasow are seen as anthems of Cornwall, Trelawny being the more popular of the two.
> 
> Just to keep track of what's going on, and persuade the reader that this won't continue to be dark meditations on addiction and Ross' decline forever, Dem goes to London, feels blue, meets Blue, and then in a two part chapter called 'Tell Me Your Plans', returns to Nampara. The story will stop there and resume as 'All Tomorrow's Parties, Part Two' the return of Malcolm, the introduction of Hugh ending in Demelza/Red's return from New York. Then the story will break again into Part Three. In this way the story won't become choked with a million chapters and the dark unhappy part is hived away in its own quarantine. There is still drama and angst, just in manageable chunks :)


	7. In Every Dream Home A Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get wine and food to give you strength and courage, and I will get the house ready  
> Unicorn From The Stars  
> William Butler Yeats

I. Ball And Chain

Jud drove up rather than Dem for Garrick and Jeremy were better settled with her in the back seat with them. They made the long trip to the flat, Dem reading story books aloud and Jud listening to old time music on the radio. They stopped at a rest stop. After Dem took Jeremy to the bathroom, Jud walked Jeremy by the hand to the cafe while Dem walked Garrick on his lead to stretch his legs. Jud sat Jeremy on his lap and let him eat a piece of his doughnut as Jud drank tea and watched Dem walking, forlorn, on what grass there was along the road. "Thur, ee made a tidy job o tha!" said Jud as Jeremy grinned over finishing the doughnut. He looked like Ross. Julia favored Dem but Jeremy looked like Ross, through and through. Jud looked to the woman at the counter. "'Ere, missus? Ee got a bit o milk fer the lad?" She smiled. "Aye, sir. Is 'e yer grandson?" She set a small juice glass of milk in front of Jeremy. "Ah, no. 'E's a good'un, though..."

They reached the flat by seven o clock. Out of expediency, they picked up supper from the chip shop. After the meal they set about their separate tasks. Dem got Jeremy put to bed. Jud went through the house to check all was well and secure. He was meant to head back in the morning but thought better of it. Jinny would arrive in two days. Waiting for Jinny made more sense. Dem was on her own with a young child and a dog. She could manage, but she shouldn't have to, thought Jud. 'T'ain't right she be turfed out of 'er own home by Ross' antics...She needs lookin' after...' He went to the kitchen and called Prudie. Dem came downstairs and heard Jud talking. She sat on the stairs and leaned to the side, rested her head on the banister rails as she listened.

"Aye. Aw, thur, thur, luv...Ee...Nay, luv! Tha ain't a good idea. No. Pru...Prudie...listen 'ere...ee needs to leave 'im be. No. NO! 'E made 'is bed, 'e's gonna damn well lie in it! If 'e be on them drugs 'e ain't gonna listen to ee! No. I don't want for ee to upset yerself, Ross be growed, it's for 'im to sort out. 'Cause 'e ain't gonna listen an' it's just gonna grieve ee, Prudie! Leave 'im be! Aye. You see to 'im I sees to 'er. Jinny be comin' two day. Aye. You looks after 'im but I tells ee, it won't do layin' into 'im. Aye. Aye, I knows, luv, I do. Ee be a lovin' woman Prudie but ee needs to let him be, eh? He don't need a tonguelashin' right now, let 'im be. Aye. that an' all. I's gonna see she gets 'er shop in an' all. Aye. Oh! E's brave, good little gruffler 'e is. Gave 'im a bit o m'doughnut on the way. Drank 'is milk an' all. He be up in 'is bed now. Aye. I be back Wendesday. Ee look after yerself, girl. Aye. Good night, luv."

Jud sighed. They may well have to have words with Ross but he didn't want Prudie to do it while he was not there. It would come to no good end and she'd not have him to comfort her, but for the phone, and that wasn't as good as being there. He'd seen Ross in his worst hours and was disturbed to think Ross had resumed the habits that got him into that state... It was quiet. He should go check on Dem. As if he had conjured her with the thought, she entered the kitchen and sat down. "'Ere, Dem, ee did ought get to bed." She nodded. "Ee wants for me to walk Garrick in the morning?" Dem nodded again. "Yes, please." She drooped her head. "Thank you, Jud." she whispered. "Aye." said Jud.

Jud walked Garrick, nice and early. He bought a newspaper and a few provisions. Dem and the little'un were still abed when they returned. Well, it was a long drive...He let Garrick into the garden and sat with his paper in the fresh air, or as fresh as air could be in a city. They would get the shopping in and get duplicate keys for Jinny. They might go down to the park. Garrick had been an energetic puppy and having grown large, still retained that personality. A good run around would be fitty after being in a car most of yesterday. By nine, that was enough of a lie in, thought Jud. He wasn't forward enough to wake them but he knew one form of persuasion that would lure them from their beds.

Dem was curled around Jeremy in his room. Upon reflection, their bedroom in London held more ghosts than their bed in Nampara. She had no qualms sleeping alone in their bed as Ross was banished to the library. Here, as drab and spartan as the bedroom on the second floor was, it was infused with very beautiful memories and it pained her to think on them. She put Jeremy in her old room and she stayed with him. She woke to the smell of bacon cooking and smiled. Even in her sad days, the promise of good food could still cheer her. "Jeremy," she whispered, "It's time to wake up!" using what cheer she could muster to sweeten the comment. She helped him to the bathroom. The potty was still a mixed success. A quick wash for both of them. There were many errands to be done. Jud offered to stay until Jinny arrived so they still had the car rather than Dem wandering the streets with Jeremy in his pushchair or taking the bus, something she had resigned herself to at first.  
"Goo mor'ing!" said Jeremy, smiling at Jud. Jud smiled over the bacon on the hob. "Good morning, Master Jeremy, ee wants a butty, then?" "Yay!" Jeremy clapped his hands. Jeremy liked bacon sandwiches and they had them infrequently. They were always a treat. "Thank you, Jud! I didn't expect you to get the breakfast!" said Dem with admiration. "T'ain't only Prudie be a dab 'and at vittles..." and he lifted his chin with pride in his ability to cook bacon. Dem made tea and gave Jeremy some water. They would have fruit juice after their shop. After good sustenance, they talked of their day -hardware store for keys, fruit and veg stall and the Sainsbury's up the way to lay in her cupboard as well as what bits and pieces they'd want. Jud wanted to leave her good n' proper. It was going on June. He didn't expect her to be away for long but he wanted the pantry settled. That way Dem and Jinny could see to the lad and not have to get out to the shops on the bus.

"Wha they mean by it? Bio powder?" Dem smiled. "That's the sort of detergent that's more natural..." Jud knit his brows. "Wha be more nat'ual than soap?! They 'ad soap on the Ark!" There were many newfangled necessities in Sainsbury's, not like when Jud were a lad. "Ee'd be lucky to 'ave drippin's on bread, time back!" huffed Jud as he pushed an amused Jeremy in the shopping trolley and looked at all money could buy in a supermarket. There would be nothing here to baffle Prudie as she always did the shop. It was a new world for Jud who marveled at all the sparkling groceries and all the ways the young don't know they're born. Oranges and tomatoes any time you like, enough biscuits to tile a floor, bags of every sort of sweet. "Ee'd be lucky to have a penny's worth of anything when I were a lad..." he groused as he considered "Devon Toffee" and "Soft Sugar Eggs" among all the crisp, little cellophane bags of candy. Dem was raised proper. She bought proper food and ingredients for her own baking, primarily. Chocolate digestives and the odd packet of sweets were as much as she considered necessary among the decadence of the supermarket. Jam and eggs, mince and chicken, food for Garrick, oats for porridge, bottles of juice, cans of soup. A box of currants, double cream and butter, milk -for the Poldarks were so often away, they were not on the milk float rounds- tea, cereal, frozen fish, frozen fruit, washing powder, kitchen roll, toilet roll, floor cleaner, tissues (she was going through boxes of tissues like mad...) cocoa and malted milk powder, salt, crackers and, with a heavy heart, chocolate buttons. Jud and a lad from the shop helped to put it all in the boot of the car in cardboard boxes that once held "Stewed Apples, Product Of Holland" and "Sainbury's Finest Old Matured Scotch Whisky" as well as a smattering of carrier bags. 

"Alright, Jinny?" Jinny smiled. Jud was always a character. "I be well, Jud Paynter!" she said, cheerfully. He smiled. Jinny be a proper Cornish girl. Daughter of Jim and Jinny Carter, named Jennifer, like 'er mothur and both called Jinny afore long. "Ee be lookin' after Master Jeremy," he said, broadly. In a lower voice he said, "I'd 'ave ee mind the missus an' all. She be needin' lookin' after too..."  
Jinny nodded. "Aye, I will."

Jud drove back to Nampara, consulting his map and perking himself up with the occasional "Soft Sugar Egg" from time to time. The radio played proper songs, not the blatherin' rock n' roll music Ross and Dem played. Ross and Dem. He sighed. Tis the ups and downs of life, thought Jud. That Ross was so unruly weren't his fault, really, he had hard luck and ol' Joshua was not the best role model a lad could 'ave...the Chynoweth girl had always been a spoiled little thing...but it was down to Ross and he'd made poor choices. It was clear Ross had regret for he was back on them drugs... He and Prudie would let Ross and Dem sort themselves out. Dem looked to the little'un, tis only right... Perhaps it won't take long for life to turn back to normal.

II. When Your Old Wedding Ring Was New

"Betterer by yer own hearth." sighed Prudie. She sank into her armchair and Jud brought her a small glass of sherry. "Aye, thank ee, luv. I's in need of it..." She smiled a tired smile. Now that Jud was back, they went home each night. Prudie had a lonely time of her vigil. She took Jud's warning seriously and let Ross alone. He was not eating much and moved through the house like a shade when he did leave the library. When he did have what little he'd eat in the kitchen, she pattered about in silence. Ross was in a bad bind. Crippled with guilt in multiple ways and seeking to hide from it all. He'd forced himself on Elizabeth and, though the tenor of the night changed for better, he knew he behaved badly at first. Dem had left him. He was compounding his problems by reverting to old solutions. Ross did not want to think. He sought to clutch at oblivion instead of facing things. Ross had to right himself. He had to stop it all, but he was making all the wrong choices, over and over again.

The Paynters readied themselves for bed, Jud in light blue pajamas and Prudie in a white nightgown with little sprigs of rosebuds repeated about it. The mattress dipped in the middle, after so many years of use, and it was a welcome cradle at the end of each day. It was, perhaps, a function of age to know the quieter pleasure of companionship, the subtler ways love flows. There was a special happiness in being together over most of ones life and have that bind and sustain you even when one is in London and one is in Cornwall. The Paynters both wanted a return to normalcy and that the Poldarks would reunite and mend. Ross and Dem were no longer the young scamps that could be told what to do and made to mind over the edge of a newspaper or a bowl of soup. They had to find their own way. The Paynters gave each other a kiss goodnight, settled to sleep and hoped for the best. Ross and Dem were still their little'uns, even if they weren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Every Dream Home A Heartache, Roxy Music 1973
> 
> Ball And Chain, Big Brother And The Holding Company 1968
> 
> When Your Old Wedding Ring Was New, Jimmy Roselli 1967
> 
> mince- ground beef
> 
> double cream- heavy cream


	8. So Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness

Life in London was quiet. Dem, ill at ease at the idea that she not take advantage of Jinny's generosity, asked her to be Jeremy's childminder-paid and formalized. Jinny agreed. The pattern that emerged from this arrangement became troublesome to Jinny, but she felt she was not in a position to tell Dem what to do. Dem left Jeremy to Jinny's devices, not rising with him in the morning, not leaving bed til almost noon. Jinny, resourceful and provided with her own set of keys, did her best to keep Jeremy on a regular schedule. They had breakfast and went to the park in fair weather and museums, indoors if it was raining. Jinny was determined to keep him busy and out of the house. He would play with toys as well, able to entertain himself while Jinny made lunch for them both. The afternoons were spent reading books and letting him watch cartoons. The sight of Jeremy in his pushchair with Jinny in tow became so common, many in the neighborhood came to believe she was his mother.  
Listless and sullen, Dem would down a cup of tea in the early afternoon and walk Garrick. This was inadequate exercise for a dog as big as he had become as well as Garrick being so used to the freedom of the large grounds of Nampara. Garrick began to have accidents indoors. Dem knew she had to be more responsible about getting him out to the park but something in her could not shift her from her sloth. She loved Jeremy and Garrick but her dark mood and lethargy did not change. She had not called home as the weeks progressed. She received no calls either. By the middle of June, Jinny started pressing Dem to get out of the house. Dem slept until one in the afternoon, walked Garrick-no play, just making sure he relieved himself-and sat watching Jeremy play on the floor until it was time for the evening meal. That Dem took seriously. She made a proper meal for them all and cleaned up afterwards. She did not play the piano in the lounge. She did not play the radio or what records were in the flat. Dem spoke of household concerns and not much else. Jinny's admonishments to go shopping, or at the very least, walk on her own without Garrick were met with disinterest. Jinny kept at her task at being a cheerful friend and minder to Jeremy. Dem's behavior was worrying. As June waned Jinny finally called the Paynters herself at Nampara. Prudie listened with sympathy and dismay. Dem called a cup of tea breakfast-whenever she deigned to rise-would only walk Garrick the barest bit, drooped about the house and as far as Jinny could see, only ate the evening meal-and not much of it. Jud looked to Prudie from the kitchen doorway. What ever Jinny was saying had made Prudie upset. "Ee needs to look after the lad, gurl. Dem ain't in a good way but she be grown...keep to the mite, that be more important." There was a pause. "Nay." Prudie leaned back against the counter and rubbed her eyes. "Aye, maid. Ee calls whenever ee needs to, luv. Ee be doin' a right proper job of 'im, and no mistake...I don't think so...he be as bent back as she be...Aye..." Prudie sighed. "Aye. Keep to Master Jeremy. That's all you can do..."

Prudie hung up and turned to Jud. "I don't see how it will get betterer, luv, Dem be beyond mullygrubs. She ain't lookin' after herself or the little'un or Garrick...Jinny's in a right state..." Jud sat at the table and Prudie joined him. "They's still better off over there..." There was no dispute between them there. Ross was not a responsible adult at the moment.

If she could shake free of her tiredness...London was full of interesting places, interesting people. Dem meant to get out, meant to enjoy the city in her exile. That had been her intent but she was so tired these days...Dem changed the sheets on the beds, heaping the stripped ones in the hamper. If she was on her game, she'd have washed them at once but there's no hurry really...Jinny had Jeremy...a puppet show...? yes, she's so good with him...Dem chided herself for not going with them...maybe next time...She had to smarten herself up. She was far too lazy these days. If she wasn't so tired...Dem made a cup of tea but did not drink it. She went to the lounge and sat on the sofa. She drew up her knees and rested her chin on them. Ross had not called. She was too proud to call herself. She wasn't sure if she could have a conversation with the Paynters. She missed them, terribly...If Ross got better they could start again...'if he still wants me...' Dem pressed her eyes against her knees. Elizabeth. All his life Ross had been in love or partly in love with Elizabeth. Dem wondered if Ross had whispered the sort of sweet things he would often say to her, as they made love, to Elizabeth. Did he still want her, a dirty little kid who tried to be his wife...? Failed. Failed to stay his wife...Elizabeth was elegant and well bred, Elizabeth could trace her ancestry back eight hundred years...slender as a lily and more mature, probably knew all sort of things about sex that Dem couldn't even guess at. Dem's whole world, her music, her children, her lovemaking, all informed by Ross. She never thought she was lacking, but you don't know what you don't know...Dem wiped her eyes and went back into the kitchen. Her tea had gone cold. She looked to the phone. Could she even speak? She sniffled. If Prudie called her 'luv' would she cry too much? "I might as well..." Dem said to the air around her as she poured the cold tea down the sink. "I'm crying anyway..."

At Nampara the phone rang. There was no one to answer it except Ross, who was not in a position to. Prudie had gone to the shops and Jud was out of doors. Dem had missed them by a quarter of an hour. Only fifteen minutes had separated Dem from the Paynters this day. Dem hung up. She looked at the clock. 'Of course, I slept too late. They're working. Prudie's probably doing the shop...' Dem thought about calling Verity. She came to London intending to call Verity but she decided against it. Setting aside what help she might gain-Verity had known of Ross' drug use in the past, maybe she had advice on the matter-the problem of Elizabeth, the shame Dem felt over it kept her from reaching out to the one person who would have done her level best to help Ross and Dem, both. Dem felt sadness but it was shame that inhibited her. She was inferior...Dem sat at the table. 'What would Prudie say...?' Dem closed her eyes as she began to shiver a little. 'Ee needs to act respectable...' Dem sighed. Prudie would demand that Dem right herself. Lying abed late, not taking proper care of Garrick like she should, drifting away...so tired...Dem sniffed, rubbed her finger under her nose, there were no tissues in the box, she'd used them all...Dem resolved to better herself. She would be 'fitty'. She let herself go, not her fault, understandable, but it would not do...She would pull herself up. Jeremy can't have both parents abandon...

Dem held her head in her hands and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Far Away, Carole King 1971


	9. Dear Mr. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invitation

Demelza wandered about, a bit aimless. She went to Liberty, to look around. She went to the food hall at Fortnum and Mason and got a few treats. That was as much as she cared to do. She would head home. She wore a favorite peasant blouse, a white cotton blouse with Ukrainian embroidery down the sleeves and around the neck-cross stitch flowers in yellow and red with deep green leaves-a long skirt of dark purple linen and flat, red leather shoes. The colors should not have worked together, but she looked beautiful. She drifted through London streets as if she walked through a garden. The vacant look in her eyes suggesting dreaminess rather than her troubled state of mind. She wanted color about her. Dem was still glum. Any bit of cheer she could contrive helped. She carried her jars of jam and luxury biscuits in a Fortnum and Mason carrier bag, had a double bunch of cut daisies, wrapped in white paper, tucked under her arm, to brighten the flat, and her personal effects in a droopy cloth bag with a long strap she crossed over one shoulder, sitting beneath her hip on the opposite side. Black, thickly woven fabric with raw edges down the side that hung like a fringe and a wide band of crocheted lace sewn down the middle of its front, showing against the dark bag in a way that was quite fetching.  
"Kaffe! Pinch me! Am I dreaming?!"  
"Wow! No, she's real alright!"  
"Miss! Wait up!"  
Dem turned on a London pavement to see a man walking, briskly, towards her. Pleasant looking enough. Unassuming clothes, a full beard and shaggy hair and, as he spoke to her, clearly a Scot.  
"Miss! My name is Bill, I'm a fashion designer. Do you model?!"  
Dem felt her cheeks go red. "Oh, no! No, nothing like that!" The man fumbled in his pockets, unable to take his eyes off of her Pre-Raphaelite hair and graceful figure. He pressed a card in her hand, excitable.  
"Please, take my card! If you want to pose or walk in a fashion show, I'd love to work with you!"  
Dem ducked her chin a little, blinked at him in disbelief. "O.K., well...Thank you..."

Demelza tried. After a month of true depression, she tried to bring herself into better form. If she had been angry, perhaps she would have been more successful at powering through her lethargy. But Dem was feeling sad, lost, frightened with herself as well. She was still upset that she had, with no forethought, instantaneous anger surging through her, hit Ross across the face and blackened his eye to the point the Paynters thought a man had done it. She felt that her father's nastiness had awoken in her-a dark seed she assumed she did not possess-and it scared her. She still felt demoted, no longer first in Ross' heart (was she ever first...? That question stole sleep from her many nights) placed as a second best prize in his life. This gave her profound sadness. In some ways, she had tried so hard to keep Ross going, through their difficulties, she'd not quite processed them for herself. She often dreamed of Julia since moving to the flat. Not nightmares like Ross often had, but dreams that troubled her when she woke for being so ordinary. She woke some mornings, struggling to remember Julia was dead. She dreamt of breastfeeding her or singing to her, plain things, day to day care of her that confused her as she came to wake and remember, clutching her pillow for Jeremy would have already started his day with Jinny. It added a layer of melancholy to her days. She still went through mornings when she could not make herself get up with Jeremy but she struggled with herself, bullied herself out of bed by ten-an improvement. Garrick was still bereft of the amount of exercise he needed but she made sure he got out every day and there were no longer accidents in the flat.  
Jinny still took charge of Jeremy, but was happy to see Dem go out a couple times a week. Window shopping, getting fresh air a little while at least. Dem, so striking with her red hair and in magazines enough to be known, to some degree, was very noticeable when she would venture out. Whispers that Dem Poldark was seen about London, without her husband, started to cycle through the gentleman's clubs and backroom chatter of many EMI executives and, through them, the higher echelons of music circles.  
One of these executives, perhaps the most important one, was Sir Hugh Brodrugan. As it happens, he was another denizen of Cornwall, who had property there as well as his well appointed London home-far more grand than the Poldark's three flat house. His function at EMI was, sort of, a "fixer", but that didn't quite describe the role, a role of his own creation, within the label. Sir Hugh, gregarious, shrewd and a notorious eye for the ladies, had a way of hearing things. This went beyond gossip, though gossip went to the heart of his business in some ways. Sir Hugh had a way of synthesizing all the gossip, news, the off hand remarks and ideas the churn of their industry, and connect them to EMI's benefit. Had trouble with a client? Sir Hugh could jolly them back into good humor. Have a single stall in the charts? Sir Hugh could drop the right word in the right ear and get things moving. Problems of a more serious nature, problems that needed discretion and deft handling? Sir Hugh knew the right way to manage unsavory and embarrassing situations, in privacy, for the right fee. His favor, his tips, his reputation as a clearinghouse for information gave him the status of a baron in the business. He held a salon, the second Wednesday of each month-unless he happened to be outside London. Open to all who had important music connections, not just EMI. This was a nexus of industry that brought together the most powerful of music's executive class in contact with musicians, media and the creative class in a way that had no parallel elsewhere. Sir Hugh, who had coveted Demelza since he laid eyes on her from afar at an Easter youth dance in Truro (years gone, long before she married her "guardian" Ross Poldark) heard she was seen about London and made it his mission to invite her to July's salon. He sent a card to the Poldark's London residence (they had a shabby little place in a no account postcode...) and made a point of dropping by to secure her attendance.

The bell rung. Jinny was out with Jeremy. Dem, casually dressed in a tee shirt and short skirt (at a length Sir Hugh approved of) bare legged, without shoes, opened the door. "Hello, my dear!" Bellowed a hairy, stocky, older man with dark eyes, fringed with thick, bushy eyebrows and a faint suggestion of too much hair in his nose and ears. A shade shorter than Dem, but imposing just the same. His suit spoke of wealth, even though it was quite plain. Dem noticed his tie tack was in the shape of a monkey who 'saw no evil', had its hands over its eyes. She had a feeling she'd seen him before, but couldn't think where. He behaved as if she should know him. "Good day...?' she said, unsure of his perceived relationship to her. Sir Hugh wasted no time. He barged right in and in an extravagant manner said, "Aah! I had heard you were in London and couldn't quite believe it!" Dem smiled, unsure of him but amused. "Forgive me, I'm not sure we've met..." she said brightly. Something in his manner made him seem like a carnival barker, a friendly sort. He patted her hand within his own. "The name's Brodrugan, m'dear...!" Dem remembered now. Brodrugan's property was quite close to Nampara and he worked for EMI. Ross did not think much of him, though he conceded that his high position within the label was earned, he was not just some blowhard with a title..."Sir Hugh...?" she ventured. "See!" he crowed, "I felt you'd know a neighbor! We've not made acquaintance for all we are neighbors. I hurry to repair the omission!" Dem bade him to sit. EMI was Ross' label after all...He sprawled across an armchair as if he might have owned the place and got straight to the point. "I sent a card earlier but I wanted to ensure your favor..." Dem blinked in incomprehension. "Favor?" Dem frowned, thinking. "Oh! The salon!" A card had come with a July date on it. She had assumed it was for Ross. "Yes, my dear. You and your husband are invited to attend. We don't have just anyone, you know, only tip top folk!" Dem smiled, amused she and Ross were considered 'tip top folk' after the business with the trial and Mark Daniel. "I like a shindig, once a month, keeps the blood fresh. I would think Ross would want to keep a hand in as Resurgam seems on the wane...He'd be a strong solo act..." Dem nodded. Sir Hugh spoke plain for all he managed to be polite. Ross and Resurgam's place within EMI had become tenuous, even after Valley Of Bread's strong sales. In truth, they were disbanded but Ross was not able to truly accept it as so. One of the ghosts pushing him into darkness during his current relapse...Dem chose her words carefully. Sir Hugh was a high placed EMI executive and it would not do to offend him or let slip her marital troubles. "Ross is in Cornwall at the moment. I'm in London on my own, for the summer..." Sir Hugh nodded affably, knowing full well, that nobody summered in London and she was in the capital alone with a kid and a nanny...he smiled. "Well! If you've left your husband by the fireside," the subtle flinch that ghosted across Dem's face, briefly, when he said 'left your husband' did not go unnoticed, though Sir Hugh's face did not belie that fact. "That's all the more reason to come by! There's many who would like to make your acquaintance. Valley Of Bread was a very strong seller, I've heard many fellows say they couldn't tell who was who on guitar!" Dem smiled, not immune to a complement. The suggestion that her playing was so strong, that she and Ross were so evenly matched, was flattering..."Well, I might drop by..." He sat up with a sense of victory. "Excellent! It's an informal affair, no need to flig yourself up. I dare say you could wear a burlap sack and cause a fashion sensation! You should model, you know! If you have the inclination, I know a deal of fashion people!" She demurred. "Thank you, Sir Hugh, but no. I think not..." Sir Hugh stood and looked her up and down as he shook her hand to leave. 'faint shadows under her eyes...man trouble... I'd stake my life on it! Maybe Poldark's finally bored with her...heard he likes 'em young...Dem's a looker though-grade A, superior!' He patted her hand before releasing it. "Ah, such a pity, you'd be a real winner! Well if you change your mind. Many fashion hounds at these things, not just music jockeys you know..." Dem thanked him and he left. It would be something to do...

"Who's Bill Gibb?" asked Jinny, noticing the card on the side table by the lamp and the vase of daisies. "Oh, he said he was a fashion designer. He asked me to call on him if I wanted to model..." Dem helped Jeremy stack his plastic blocks as they sat on the floor. Jinny perked up at that. How exciting! "Will you do it?" Jinny seemed excited at the idea. "Oh...I don't think so..." Dem still seemed blue. "Oh, I'll be going out Wednesday night..." Jinny's eyebrows raised. "Really? To a party?" Dem smiled at Jeremy and sat him on her lap for a snuggle. He looked up happily at her. Her eyes were not leaking today..."Sort of a party, I think...A guy from Ross' label has a cocktail evening at his house, once a month. He meant it for Ross, really, but it's something to do..." Jinny smiled. She'd be happy to tell the Paynters that Dem was getting out of the house more often, getting out a bit more. Demelza was still very down but buying a bit of frippery, going out of an evening, was an improvement. "What will you wear?" smiled Jinny. Dem smiled back, she hadn't thought about it. "I don't know..." she perked up a little, thinking about some of the clothes she'd seen in the shops. A little splash out for a new blouse wouldn't break the bank..."Perhaps I'll have to shop for some glad rags!" she chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Mr. Fantasy, Traffic 1967
> 
> Dem never did call Bill back, but Bill Gibb (1943-1988) a fashion designer known for his fanciful, ornate clothes and knitwear, designed with his collaborator, Kaffe Fassett, had a client in Angharad Rees, the 70s Demelza, and she also walked in his Albert Hall 10th Anniversary Collection in 1977.
> 
> grade A, superior: Sir Hugh, having examined Demelza at close range and made visual assessment of the overall shape and flesh coverage, has classified Dem to the same standard of the highest grading of meat, in accordance to the U.K. union specification for England and Wales (see guidelines for Northern Ireland and Scotland).
> 
> As this story continues, 'Sir Hugh' or 'Hughie' is always Brodrugan. Plain 'Hugh' is always Hugh Armitage.


	10. Talk Of The Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hielan' laddie

I. Maiden Voyage

The bell rang as the door opened and the shopkeeper greeted a lanky young man, in blue jeans and a dark green, paisley, button down shirt. He had a soft footstep for his shoes were the sort of black leather, gum sole, work shoes that wouldn't be out of place on a factory floor. He had short brown hair, a mustache and a goatee, quite well trimmed, with the rest of his face shaved clean. As he opened his mouth to return the shopkeeper's hello, a brace of schoolboys-seven or eight- came running in. They clamored at the counter, loud and talking all at once, all vying to be first to buy sweets. The man scolded them, "You hellions need t'wait yer turn! This gent was first!" But the customer laughed. "Nay, let the laddies 'ave at their sweets, they just got off school an' all..." After profuse shouts of "Thanks mister!" and ten minutes of intense argument over who was buying what, for the sake of trading, the school boys bought their candy and the shopkeeper returned to the young man. "What d'ya fancy, sir?" Malcolm smiled. He scanned the shelves behind the counter with a friendly look in his brown eyes and a satisfied sigh. Rows and rows of tall, cylindrical, glass jars, each filled with varied levels of colorful candies. He enjoyed all the different, dime store candies in America but they they weren't a patch on the cornershop sweets of Britain. "May I have a quarter of kola kubes and a quarter of soor plooms, please?"

It was the end of his visa that made him leave the U.S. but, in truth, session work was becoming harder to come by and Malcolm was finding himself socializing and hobnobbing more often than he was getting gigs. The city had been paved with gold for a couple of decades. If you could read charts and had command of your instrument there was work going begging. Songwriting and recording had been so twinned together in New York City for so many years it seemed like the good times would roll on and on. Between recording pops songs, television jingles, movie scores, television incidental music...New York had been paradise. Malcolm McNeil, a drummer, had enjoyed his time in the city. He drummed on many projects and had cash under the table in some jazz clubs as well. The times he caught work, filling in at those clubs was like a college education for Malcolm. He learned timing and the subtleties of working through a performance, watching the cues of the others players-to stop, to start, to speed up, to slow down. To lean in or lay back, to groove and blend in, to counterpoint and spark against the music even as it built within a song. He also learned, in the jazz clubs, to keep his nose clean. Many good gigs were his for the taking because some drummers were so mixed up in drug abuse they became unreliable. Malcolm was not the sort to mess about with drugs-Da would lam him with his Mam waiting her turn behind him. At the ripe old age of 23 he was still, at heart, a good Scottish boy who listened to his parents. His only vice was his sweet tooth. He liked his coffee and tea milky and quite sweet. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of American and British candy for he was never without some sort of sweet on his person. By drumming and walking everywhere ( New York was a pedestrian hive, Malcolm watched his pennies by rarely taking cabs and only took the subway when the blocks were too far apart to get to a place quickly) he remained slim for all he had a sweet tooth. That and his height was enough to make people wonder if he was a junkie too, on sight. Once one got to know him, it was clear that wasn't the case. Malcolm was well liked, he was easy going and cheerful, could talk a good game in an Scottish accent that charmed people (as often as it baffled, sometimes), joke and laugh and he was an extremely good musician who's curiosity and eagerness to learn and chat made him a character. A fish cannot live in water that is too clean. Malcolm was liked just as much in the music landscape of New York City because he could 'be cool'. Malcolm took people as they came, didn't pass judgements over people when they had to 'get right' or 'be right back'. He didn't flinch or make a fuss over other people's bad habits, one could not, really. Being a New York musician meant swimming in that murky pool, even if you did not partake yourself. It was one of the reasons Malcolm resisted joining bands. There was always too much drama and it was only a matter of time before one member or another became a weak link. With session work, sitting in, you got paid, you got your cash and no entanglements. That's how Malcolm liked it. As session culture started to lose the parts of the business that kept it humming for so long in New York-locally produced pop hits losing steam in the charts to rock bands who wrote their own material, popular hits coming from U.K. acts getting a bigger share of the American market, the move westward-companies kept their offices in Manhattan but most of the real deals and recording had moved to California (even Motown, bastion of Detroit, had moved to California) it became a smaller and smaller pool of work opportunities. Malcolm's visa finished and he went to London. He rented a space to keep his drums and practice and a bedsit to lay his head. He didn't feel he needed more because he was going home to Scotland at Christmas. He'd go home and decide what was next. Malcolm was not sure California was what he wanted though it was clear that's where the action was in the States... Tonight, knocking about London, trying to think what to do, not serious about much in London for he knew he was bound home in the winter, Malcolm happened upon an invitation to Sir Hugh Brodrugan's monthly salon. They'd met in an EMI canteen in Abbey Road Studios as Malcolm was talking with Nick Mason, among other people. Malcolm had no reason at all to be there and certainly did not know the drummer of Pink Floyd personally at all, but he wanted to see what Abbey Road looked like and blagued his way in, having spoken of New York and drumming so knowledgeably, he seemed to have cause to be there. When Sir Hugh saw Mason shake hands with Malcolm as he left the canteen he introduced himself and asked who he was. He was amused by Malcolm's answer, "I just came to see what it was about..."

II. Second Hand News

Malcolm McNeil could get along with most anyone. He did not like people who were 'up themselves', the sort of people who looked down on others or felt others were beneath them. Malcolm could be said to have a working class chip on his shoulder in this regard. His disliked people like that. He spoke like the working class Scot he was-proud of it- and often bore the disrespect or disregard of the sort of blokes that were playing pool in Sir Hugh's billiards room. They were amused by him. That he could cope with. He knew he did not have their respect but they were not rude to him. That he could tolerate even as he could see it for what it was. No sneering, no insult. He was not quite their comic relief but they were amused and charmed by his accent and his total ignorance of the couple they were gossiping about. It delighted them to be able to fill him in on all the details.  
Malcolm had stepped away as a new game started and leaned against the wall by the table, near enough to converse but out of the way of the players. These executive types with their cigars and their tumblers of drink were laying odds. They were betting on being able to catch a coveted prize. A woman Sir Hugh had invited and was meant to be here tonight. That they considered her a 'first class bird' was evident. More than one spoke of their intention to install her in an apartment and make her their mistress. Bent over the table, one took his shot at the billiard balls to the toff growls of triumph and admiration about the room at his skill and turned somewhat to say, "I can't believe you never heard of the Poldarks!" Malcolm shrugged. "I've been in New York, drumming, and in Scotland before that..." another swallowed down some whisky, coughing a little as he said, "Will she really be here? You're not just having a leg pull, Hughie?" Sir Hugh gave a snort, "I don't play games when it comes to fillies!" He looked at the man directly, with a knowing look. "And one thing I do know, you'll lose your money to someone! She's got one foot out the door. I think Dem's looking to trade up!" The other player looked down the table, to set up his shot. "Maybe he's looking to trade down!" He smirked. "Poldark probably couldn't get it up anymore once she grew tits!" the balls split in various directions. "Dem's long in the tooth for a man with his tastes..." There were guffaws of laughter at his remark "That's what I think," said another man, off to the side. "He only married her 'cause she was first! You can't tell me he doesn't have a shedload of schoolgirls prancing about in that farmhouse of his, Devon was it...?" The man standing next to Malcolm sipped at his drink and said, sagely, "I don't blame her if she wants out. Poldark's one more scandal away from Resurgam getting dropped, what with all that business about the murder..." Malcolm's eyes widened as he turned to look at him. "What?! You sayin' 'e murdered somebody?!" The man laughed, as much at Malcolm's accent as his shocked response. "No, no,no! Not Poldark! It was the bass player...Innis? Whatshisname...?" The man turned to Sir Hugh and he answered back, amused to see how wrong the gossip had gotten tangled. "The bass player is Enys. He was having it off with the wife of one of their roadies. It was the roadie that killed that girl!" A general "ahhhh..." of agreement and correction around the room at this. Malcolm was a little ill at ease now. These corporate types were jaded and spoke of this woman as if her death meant nothing at all except bemused entertainment at someone else's misfortune. Sir Hugh took a sip of his drink and continued. "If Valley Of Bread hadn't sold so well they'd have been out on their ear already. Still may do, come spring. If Resurgam can't get themselves together and get a song to chart again, EMI won't renew. Ross won't have a label next year..." The billiard balls clinked against each other and the soft sides of the table. "All the more reason to get your dibs in now! Dem's still a looker!" said one. "She still looks young..."said another. The man taking his shot said, "She looks young enough to need a dummy!" The man standing next Malcolm said, "Dem's dummy was Poldark's cock!" Sir Hugh watched Malcolm blanch and look at them all nervously as the rest in the room laughed heartily. He smiled, charmed. The young drummer was the sort who could give as good as he got and be a lad until the talk got too rough. There weren't enough like him in this business. More's the pity...Sir Hugh felt he should put Malcolm out of his misery. "Malcolm?" He looked to Sir Hugh. "Aye?" Sir Hugh smiled, "Did you see that album, Valley Of Bread?" Malcolm shook his head 'no'. Sir Hugh gestured that Malcolm should follow him. "Come along, I'll show it to you..." As they left the billiard room and walked down the hall, Sir Hugh nodding to this one or that one, other guests as they passed in the hall, he clapped his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "They talk a good game but they aren't that bad, really..." Malcolm wasn't so sure. Malcolm knew he wouldn't be able to look Mam in the eye if he'd said any of that. Even if the girl was as hard bitten as they made out, she didn't deserve that kind of talk. Sir Hugh continued through the house as he nodded gently, greeting more of the early arrivals and led Malcolm to his study. "Dem Poldark would take some bridling, I'll lay a curse. Damme, I'd not refuse the chance myself!" Malcolm looked at him sharply and Sir Hugh nodded. "She's top class! Top class, m'boy! I've seen more fillies than you've had hot dinners!" Sir Hugh turned on the light in the room and gestured Malcolm towards the desk as he crossed the room to retrieve the album. Malcolm looked at the various papers on the desk. Quite a few of them had Warleggan Group's logo on them. "'E deal with Warleggan Group?" Malcolm remembered them as being sort of grasping, also rans- buying out little labels, but not really a player. Sir Hugh gave a derisive snort. "Everyone has to deal with Warleggan Group! They're a damned nuisance!" Sir Hugh groused as he bent down, strenuously, to consult a shelf of vinyl records. "Do you know they had the cheek to try and offer for Virgin! Young Branson told them a thing or two, I dare say! Ahhh!" He pulled out a record. As he stood up he said, "I've seen every young thing that set foot in EMI, I've seen every starlet that set foot out of Italia Conti! I've seen Elizabeth Taylor, young! When she married that Wilder fellow!" He lay the record on his desk. "I am telling you, Demelza Poldark beats all!" Malcolm picked up the record and looked at the front. An impossibly blue sky over a stretch of a field. Standing in profile was a dark haired man in black jeans and a billowy white shirt, on the subtle crest of a hill on the left hand side. On the right, the girl in question in a long denim skirt, a peasant blouse and picking wheat, or something, further away from the man watching her, adding it to a sheaf over her arm, her face away from the man and away from the camera. She had vivid red hair, gorgeous red hair. Without her face visible, it was even more striking. A white EMI logo was in the left lower corner. Sir Hugh smiled, the reaction to the back cover was what he was waiting for. "Turn it over..." he said. Malcolm did so and recoiled. Jarringly different to the natural beauty of the front, the back was drenched in a weird dark pink. Now the girl was seated on the floor in front of a desk and her skirt was missing. Again, her hair obscured her face as she looked at pale colored roses, lying on the floor by her knees. The curve of her thighs and her in nothing but a peasant blouse was a sexy combination but it didn't strike Malcolm as cheap looking or tacky. It drew one in. All the things you wanted to see were hidden. Who was she? What did she look like? Was it just her skirt off...? Behind her, seated at the desk, was her husband. The desk's top was littered with old glass paperweights and odd tangles of what looked like discarded guitar strings. He was reclined in his chair and the soles of his boots, resting up on the desk were very large in the picture compared to his head. He looked at the camera, unsmiling, intense. He looked as if he was daring the viewer to say anything about the girl on the floor. He had the sort of scar on his face that spoke of a bar fight-not surprising though- the men in the billiard room discussed him like he was a hard case, like they were a little afraid of him, even as they were scheming to catch hold of his wife. The pink color gave a sense of menace to the back of the record that the front lacked entirely. It was as if all that was romantic and beautiful about the 1960s was on the front and all that was dark and disturbing of that decade was on the back. Woodstock on the front, Altamont on the back. Sir Hugh crowed. "Look at him! Look at his face! The cheek of the devil!" He laughed. "They were a mite coarse but they had the right of it! Poldark was having it off with that girl for years! Not just married! She was a street kid! She might have been shagging him since she was ten!" Malcolm grimaced. Did he use her like these men said? He certainly looked like he thought he owned her, glowering at the viewer. He looked at the text, white and ordinary, down the right hand side of the record's back. The cover was shot by Storm at Hipgnosis. That was interesting. Malcolm didn't know this band but EMI wouldn't spend that kind of dosh on a nobody band. Malcolm thought of other record covers, Blind Faith's came to mind- a topless young girl holding a toy airplane, Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy, loads of kids, without a stitch of clothing on, crawling along rocks or something... Poldark could just be posing for a risque cover, like anyone..."It don't have to be like that!" countered Malcolm, "Record covers are pervy like that sometimes!" Sir Hugh chuckled. "You got me there, m'boy. Well, whether he did or he didn't she's seems ready to bolt..." Malcolm had nothing to say to that. The album was a gatefold. Sometimes that was to house a double album-four sides, two vinyl records sold together. Sometimes, as this one was, it was a graphic choice so they could fit a double spread picture. It opened like a book as Malcolm took his first glance at the gatefold spread.

III. Whole Lotta Love

Cupid turned and stretched. Yawned. He peered over the edge of his cloud and a smile crept across his face that wouldn't be out of place on the devil himself. He had an arrowhead he'd been tinkering with, a folly, an experiment. A vicious, needle sharp tip and filled with a random assortment of oddments and whims-playful kittens and champagne bubbles, angel's laughter and stardust, constancy and loyalty, a dash of chivalry, a pinch of lust too. Strawberries and cream, cinnamon, and a single drop of Sainbury's Finest Scotch Whisky. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. To an ordinary rosewood shaft, he added a bit of color to the fletching. White dove's feathers, a posy- blue violets surrounding a red damask rose, the perfume of which might classify as a chemical weapon. He added a purple thistle, sprinkled over a handful of paradiddles and dipped the arrow's tip in a glass of Babycham. Cupid stood and blew a curl of hair out of his eye. He licked his forefinger and raised it aloft to gauge the wind. He notched his arrow against his bow and steadied himself. He closed one eye, tongue protruding like an arrowhead of its own from parted lips as he concentrated on aiming. Cupid let fly, tilted his chin a fraction as he watched it hit its mark and had a self satisfied smile. His aim was true.

IV. Guinevere

On a richly colored carpet, red ground with woven designs, lay Ross Poldark and his wife, Demelza. Surrounded by long stemmed white roses and the snapped shorter blooms of others mixed about with them. Crystal balls glittered among the deep green leaves, three identical Fender guitars lay around them as well. The husband, possessively keeping one arm around her, looked asleep in her arms. Any man would want to be Ross at that moment...He wore the same clothes and black leather boots that he had on in the field and the girl...Jesus Christ...her legs...her bare legs went on for miles...She had the peasant blouse on and nothing else. Little red snowflakes were sewn on it and the white of the blouse made the roses look like they were carved out of ivory...The girl's face was visible here. She looked off dreamily to the side, her hair so bright against the green leaves, the white roses, the glossy black of the Stratocasters lying near her on the deep red carpet that whispered faded grandeur, wealth, once grand, now aged and weathered...Malcolm might have gone cross eyed briefly, she was that pretty. The spine of the gatefold bisected the photo and drew across so you couldn't help but wonder if she had knickers on. This was a topic of debate and conjecture for British boys and young men of a certain age in 1973, was she or wasn't she? If she was, one had the pleasure of imagining getting to take them off. If she wasn't...well...Sir Hugh watched Malcolm stare at the photo spread in the gatefold and chuckled. 'Top. Class.' he thought as he chuckled. "I told you, she's a wonder! I'd not blame you young man, but you ain't her type..." Malcolm looked up at him, confused. Sir Hugh said, "She wants to trade up! I think she's tired of Poldark and his poxy, little houses! She was meant for finer things and she knows it! She wants a man of means, a man of maturity!" Malcolm laughed a little, he thought, 'A man like you lot...piggy ol' rich geezers who have more money than sense...?' Malcolm closed the record, handed it back. "Well, she's married, anyway. I ain't lookin' to mess with somebody's wife..." said Malcolm. Sir Hugh shrugged. "If the girl's willing, I'd not say no!" Malcolm started to feel sorry for a person he hadn't even met. Was she coming here looking for a lover or was she about the enter a wolves' den full of predators? All these boardroom types were talking like they really had a chance with her. They left the study. The house was starting to hum with more attendees. Malcolm hoped more musicians would show up tonight. This was said to be where the action is for music in London but as far as it seemed to him it was just a way for corporate types to gossip like fishwives and pull birds. It was early. Maybe things would improve as the night got going. He hoped for more refined, serious music people from a place like this...proper players, recording chatter, real industry talk...Malcolm certainly didn't come here tonight looking to chase birds...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk Of The Town, The Pretenders 1981
> 
> Maiden Voyage, Herbie Hancock 1965
> 
> Second Hand News, Fleetwood Mac 1977
> 
> Whole Lotta Love, Led Zeppelin 1976
> 
> Guinevere, Rick Wakeman 1975
> 
> Hielan' laddie- the 'quick march' tune of the Royal Scots Greys, the regiment of Malcolm's Grahamsian Poldark counterpart
> 
> toff: derisive term for an upper class person
> 
> dummy: baby pacifier
> 
> Italia Conti: A London theater school of renown, established in 1911
> 
> Woodstock on the front, Altamont on the back: Woodstock, a three day concert also known as Bethel Rock Festival in August 1969, in upstate New York, was seen as the pinnacle of all that was good about the Counterculture Movement. After the Rolling Stones were denied a permit to have a free concert in Golden Gate Park, they mounted a show at Altamont Speedway in California on Demember 6th, 1969. Billed as "Woodstock of the West" it became known as "The death of the Sixties" a symbol of all that was harrowing and scary about the Counterculture. The Hells Angels were security for the event that devolved into violence, a stabbing death of an audience member, a death of someone on LSD who fell in and drowned in an irrigation canal and bad vibes all round. Documented later in the Rolling Stones film, Gimme Shelter.
> 
> dosh: money
> 
> a handful of paradiddles: a paradiddle is one of the basic patterns (rudiments) of drumming, consisting of four even strokes played in the order left-right-left-left or right-left-right-right. Cupid had poor Blue with that arrow six ways to Sunday...
> 
> Yes, Dem had her knickers on for the photoshoot
> 
> Malcolm certainly didn't come here tonight looking to chase birds: 'birds', British slang for women. The actual, honest to goodness, nickname of the Royal Scots Greys is 'birdcatchers' :)  
> Ahem, those who have read New Career know, even before Malcolm does here, that he did, indeed, get to catch his bird...
> 
> Demelza has had a harrowing experience of physical abuse at the hands of her father and witnessing his abuse of her mother who died when she was six. She comes to Nampara in 1964 after Ross finds her and blackmails her father into allowing her to stay with him. They marry in 1968. If Ross had not gone to Elizabeth that fateful May night, 1975, Dem would have continued to follow him around with heart emoji eyes and her 'D' necklace on for the rest of her life. That might sound romantic but it isn't every healthy. Ross has given Dem the right to be a child, for longer than she should, because of her abusive past and, on some level, because Ross never really grew up either. Malcolm, 23, secure in the knowledge that he is 'good' because he is a dutiful son of a loving, working class family ( doesn't do drugs because his parents would 'lam him'-punish him by beating him up, won't speak ill of women because he 'wouldn't be able to look Mam in the eye', strictly told his Da would disown a son who raised a hand to a woman-New Career, brushes his teeth each night, without fail, because Mam told him and his brothers to -Ballroom Blitz) is attracted to Demelza immediately, christens her 'Red' almost at once and tells himself over and over and over 'she's off limits'. She's married and that's that. Ten years after the time they should have both experienced latency, Malcolm is going to give Demelza the right to be a teenager. She has a flashy nickname and comes to have a trusted friend her own age who (to the fascination of everyone around them) is permitted a level of physical affection that they both see as unproblematic because 'Blue knows his place' They can hug, hold hands, walk arm in arm and drape themselves over each other while watching TV because they are both secure in the idea that they will not touch the third rail, they will not cross into a sexual relationship. She is married and they are just friends. 
> 
> Well, that was the plan... Malcolm, convinced that Red should pursue her talent as a musician, pokes and prods her until he manages to get her to go for it. There is a second aspect to this that will be explored in the second part of the story later but, for now, Demelza, having grown up alienated from her peers by the gossip about Ross' relationship with her in their surrounding community, crushed by Ross' recent betrayal of their marriage and Malcolm, jolly, well liked, friendly but leery of getting too close to people (they might have bad habits, might not be approved by his familial unit, they might tempt him away from his moral code, be trouble...) get to develop and explore a close peer relationship, informed but apart from their family structures. They test their mettle, have fun, risk, push boundaries and form support systems for each other. Blue is going to allow Red the teenage running around she missed as she spent an important period of her life receiving loving care and healing at Nampara.


	11. Foxy Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night out

I. The Low Spark Of High Heeled Boys

"Wow!" Jinny's eyebrows just about flew off her face. Dem did not wear make up very often. Jinny wasn't sure she'd ever seen Dem in make up. Demelza chuckled as she took a star turn in the foyer. "In for a penny, in for a pound!" Demelza had gone looking for a new blouse to wear and happened upon a boutique called 'Eye Of Horace' which sold the sort of clothes one would find made from cotton in an Indian shop but made from fine silks. They were beautiful but more money than Demelza could spend. In a sudden burst of inspiration, Dem remembered an article in Vogue about wearing scarves as clothes. She bought a long, wide scarf, expensive but not as much as a blouse. It was bright red with a printed floral pattern and fine gold threads woven in through it. It was soft and caught the light with its gold sparkle and silken sheen. With the aid of a few safety pins and some strategic knots, it wrapped around Dem as a halter top with the two ends of the scarf making a little train behind her that fluttered gently as she moved. It wound round her over a short skirt and tights, both black. It was extremely pretty and a little risque. One could see she had no bra, even as her back and breasts were well covered. The tight wrap of the fabric kept all in place and the layers and gold threads obscured any sight of her nipples through the material. She had a painted black line over her eyelids and a bit of gold eye shadow shimmering the corners. Her hair was shaken out to a bit more glamour, like a lion's mane, and her gold 'D' twinkled between the scarf on either side of her neck. Jeremy looked at her, his mouth an 'o' of surprise. It was as if Mama had turned herself into a fairy princess. "Do you like it, Jeremy?" and he nodded 'yes' vigorously. They laughed together and Dem knelt down to give him a kiss. "Be good for Jinny! I'll see you in the morning, my love!" Dem took a small black leather purse, put the invitation and a lipstick in it and then put on black court pumps made of soft, black suede. She'd hail a cab to Sir Hugh's house. She wasn't quite sure what to expect but it did feel nice to dress up and go out. She didn't do it very often.

Malcolm was pleasantly surprised to find that the salon was all it was cracked up to be. There were the same sort of executives he met in the billiard room but also many musicians, producers-not just EMI folk- television people, the sort of people who finance projects, the sort that get things done. They were all milling about, talking, drinking, sniffing around for opportunities, up for a brag-telling of what they were up to and their latest triumphs. It was not exclusively male. There were women here and there. Some were the kind of starlets who wanted to break into music. Most were the select sort of escorts that 'make a party go' for the high flying men here tonight. Malcolm wasn't above ogling them, they were made up like the girls in magazines. He kept his distance from them. Those were the sort of women who wouldn't look twice at someone like him. They wanted to snag a wealthy man or at least hold their interest enough to get something out of the arrangement. Malcolm, affable and a knowledgeable musician fit right in as the night progressed. He'd even gotten a few business cards from people who might see clear to giving him some drumming opportunities. It was a very corporate sort of affair. He could see that everyone was there for business reasons even if you weren't an executive type. He had a drink or two, chatted with this producer or that sound engineer and, throughout the night, stole glances at the woman in question in the greedy, nasty talk of the men in the billiard room. She looked elegant and posh. She was as beautiful as the album cover, more so. One could see her eyes sparkle in the light of the room, the movement of her hair, so wonderfully red, her movement through the room, serene and drifting among all these people like a swan. She had a pretty smile and circulated the party. She chatted politely to many of the men who had insulted her behind her back. Malcolm was ill at ease to see it. They were toerags to a man. He was careful not to make eye contact with her. She was out of his league, posh, gorgeous and married on top of it all. He had no reason to converse with Demelza Poldark. 

Dem entered to Brodrugan residence and handed her invitation to a butler in the front hall. Small knots of people were here and there, talking, and she scanned the room from one side to the other as her name was checked against a guestbook. The suited men, Brodrugan's age and older appraised her with the sort of toothy smile that would not be out of place in a shark tank. She was handed back her invitation back and she passed the gentlemen to go in. Whispered comment floated in the air behind her, "That was Dem Poldark..." She felt strange, being in a place like this. Ross was not the sort to come to an affair like this. She had no real reason to be here either... Dem lifted a glass of champagne from an offered tray. 'I'm a housewife...' she thought. Her work on Valley Of Bread aside, she wasn't really an EMI artist. She was just Ross' wife. She flinched, inwardly. The taste of champagne as she sipped it made her think of their wedding. An unbidden vision of Ross smiling over the glass she handed him before they went upstairs...to make love...in the flat...  
Dem blinked herself into the present, set the glass down on another table with rows of filled wine glasses standing at attention. She chose red wine and chided herself. 'I will have fun tonight...' she thought, '...no ghosts and no sadness...' She straightened her back, gave a little shake of her head to revive the volume in her hair. 'I'm out on the town tonight!' She lifted her chin towards Sir Hugh as he barreled down on her, leaving a brace of suited business men staring in their direction and murmuring excitedly among themselves. Hughie delivered! Dem Poldark was here, sans husband. "M'dear! I was afeared you had changed your mind! Welcome!" "Thank you." She smiled as Sir Hugh patted her hand and ogled her up and down trying, without success, to see any hint of her nipples under the scarf so tantalizingly wrapped around her. He went a little cross eyed reading her 'D' charm and then stood back to take her all in, still holding her hand at arms length like an appraiser in an art gallery. "God's my life! You gild the lily with a vengeance!" She bobbed a curtsy, to be humorous. A correct 'Hempel reared' one that made Sir High laugh as much from the fact that she was showing him favor as getting a chance to admire her legs. 'The topper most top!' he thought. He offered his arm and she took it as he led her in and continued to fawn over her. "You could be on the cover of Vogue! Come with me, m'dear, I'll introduce you to the highest high fliers! If I don't get you a modelling contract before the night is through..." she laughed as she walked along side him. "Really, Sir Hugh! I'm not looking to model..." Brodrugan gave a snort of a laugh. "Pom-ti-pom! You've got a face that could launch a thousand ships! Come meet Rupert. He owns newspapers..."

Dem smiled. Dem nodded. Dem declined the avalanche of drinks men kept offering her. She learned more about yachts than she ever cared to know. Had she been to Hawaii? No? Well we could... Do you ski? Chalets were as intricate as yachts it seemed. Every man she meet could do something for her whether it was modelling, or making a record or gracing their presence by 'being a sport'. It was only politeness to agree to a weekend in Paris or a trip to Rome. Have you been to Italy? Where has Poldark been hiding you all this time? I've been to Devon, myself..."Do you like women? I know a girl who'd do you down to the ground, she's quite good!" "You mean a make up artist?" asked Dem, disturbed to think he could be suggesting lesbianism. "Oh! Oh yes, of course! But you're so gorgeous, you don't need that sort of assistance..." The fervent dream of a ménage à trois went up in smoke as Dem circulated to a different part of the room.  
Dem was quite in demand. Across the room some of the ladies who were intending to catch the eye of some of these wealthy attendees were becoming irritated. All the men seemed to by trailing after the redhead. Knots of men that just would not break up. They were quite put out. She was fashionable, nice looking, but not special. Maybe she had notoriety. Maybe she had clever tricks and a sexy reputation. "Who's her madam?" asked one. Maggie Vosper, an old hand at Cornish gossip before she entered the groupie scene and graduated to the escort landscape of the capital said, "She's not a working girl! That's Dem Poldark!" "I knew I'd seen her before!" said another. "She's married to Ross Poldark!" Maggie looked at her up and down. For all her fashionable look, she was just a country girl. She was a schoolgirl in dress up clothes. Ross Poldark fucked like a demon. How he ended up with a mousey little girl like that was a mystery. Maggie never believed the gossip around Ross and Dem. People were quick to whisper that Ross had it off with young girls but she knew this was not true. Poldark had his way with groupies, time back. Proper women. She knew this. She had been one of them. "We should move her off or we won't get anywhere tonight..." complained another. "I know how..." Maggie smiled.

II. Barracuda

Dem enjoyed floating around this party, sipping at her wine and wandering through the tidal wave of courteous, fawning, absurdly generous men. She had little reason to believe they were serious about bringing her to just about every luxury destination under the sun, on a yacht, on a plane, on a getaway vacation. More than one had insisted she should have a getaway weekend...She did not care about this event or the people around her, but it was nice to talk of things other than laundry and picture books. Think of ski slopes and tropical islands instead of the state Ross had gotten himself into. A distraction, something to do...Suddenly, she found herself surrounded by women. The men did not disperse right away, but some women came to speak with her. Dem smiled, shyly. "Hello." Maggie smiled, warmly. "You're Dem Poldark, ain't you?" Dem smiled and looked at them all in a friendly manner. "Yes." The woman smiled again. "I knew I'd seen you before. How is Ross?" Dem's smile lessened. "Um...he's fine..." Maggie continued her bright, brittle chatter. "Really? I heard you was in London on your own..." Dem looked, from one to the other, at the five women before her. Perfumed, elegant, taller than her for their heeled shoes were higher than hers. All of them looking at her the way a cat does when it has a bird or a mouse cornered. "I..." Dem began, Maggie interrupted. "Not to pry, darling..." Dem shrank back a little, 'darling' did not sound sincere. "I did wonder, though, how did ya meet your husband?" Dem's eyes widened. "Um...we met in London..." Maggie smiled. "Oh? Playtime, was it?" Dem's cheeks felt warm. The men who had been standing around had drifted off to other parts of the party. She was cornered like a bird or a mouse...The other women were giggling. The suggestion was Ross had first seen her on a school playground. Dem's cheeks reddened a little. She looked around to see if she could leave these women, a stair was to the right..."Um..." Dem had no answer, no sharp remark or snappy thing to say. "I was surprised when they got hitched! It made all the papers! Did you see them back then? What was it, '68?" Dem nodded in spite of herself. She started to feel her armpits prickle with a sweat borne of anxiety. She would leave these women. These women were scary..."I was surprised 'cause Ross didn't seem like the marryin' kind!" Dem knit her brows. "Ross was a wild man in bed!" crowed Maggie. Dem's mouth fell open as the women started to laugh. "Was he?" asked one as they all stared Dem down. "Oh yeah!' Maggie leered, "He was unstoppable! I wondered who would snag him! Don't he do it for you anymore, love? You lookin' to trade up now?" Dem's eyes widened and she realized they had backed her against the wall with a side table blocking her left, the stairs to the right..."You aren't woman enough for these blokes, m'girl, that's why they want you..." Dem frowned "I'm not..." "Yes you are..." said Maggie with menacingly quiet voice. "These blokes are lining up to get their hooks into you because they want a little fool who doesn't know her place," hissed Maggie as the women on either side of her glowered at Dem. "They'll use you like a slut and drop ya! Ain't no one here gonna marry ya!" Dem startled. "I'm not..." "Oh yes you are! You need to give it up, girl! You'll never be like us. They can smell it on you..." Dem was perplexed. "Smell what?" Maggie's smile hardened. "You're desperate!" Dem's eyes widened more as the eyes of the women narrowed. "You are," she whispered, "Ross don't want ya no more? Is that it?' Dem's lip started to tremble.'Ross had Elizabeth...does he want me anymore...?' Maggie and the others could see that had rattled her. "Ross got tired of his little school girl? So now you showin' yourself off, swanning around London makin' them all want you, lookin' for a rich bloke to take up where hubby left off, eh?! Makin' 'em drool over ya?" Dem looked at them all in open mouthed horror. "I'm not!" Dem looked to the steps. "You ain't no escort, you're just a kid!" Maggie was near enough, Dem could smell the wine on her breath. Dem stepped to her right and hurried up the stairs as the women laughed heartily. Dem turned into a second floor hall, businessmen coming and going, chatting amongst themselves, looking at her with leering interest. She went another turn up to another landing and sat against the wall. This hall was trafficked by less people going to another part of the house, more quiet. Dem sat on the floor of the hall, seated against the wall with her legs drawn up to stay out of the way of the hall carpet and the occasional person walking through. She was shaking a little. She wasn't wandering around London trying to get a man! She was shopping! Dem rested her chin on her knees and willed herself not to cry. Ross had sex with that horrible woman...Dem was not foolish. Ross was a man, on tour, going from place to place. It made sense that he took his pleasure, like any other man would. Ross, Dwight and Ned never spoke of such things, but three young men on tour...She said she was just a kid and it hurt her in all the places Dem could hurt. Did Ross need her any more if he had Elizabeth? She couldn't even hold her head up and tell them how she met Ross. She wasn't a glamorous groupie, painted and sophisticated...She was a dirty, lice ridden, beaten, broken little kid, clutching a dirty dog in a filthy alley that stank of rubbish and piss, with some old, drunk man offering her money...like...a...slag... 

III. Rikki Don't Lose That Number

"Uh, miss?"  
Dem turned her head to look through the banister rails. She was trying to blink back tears that were threatening as she saw two, concerned looking brown eyes blinking at her through the rails. Malcolm could see her through the turn of the stair for he had not mounted the landing of the hall yet. He climbed the stairs to the landing and came to sit opposite her, in the hall. People walked between them as they spoke. "Are you alright?" asked Malcolm. He had seen a bunch of girls corner her and then her flight. He could not hear what they said but he saw she was upset. Dem sniffed. Malcolm felt about in his jeans jacket pockets and handed her a handkerchief. "It's clean..." he said, quietly. "Thank you..." she wiped her eyes and then gasped. She had forgotten she was wearing make up. The handkerchief was smeared with eye make up. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry!" He smiled a little. "That's alright, love. Don't mind about that. Keep it." Dem daubed at her eyes. 'I must look a mess...' she thought. "Are you alright?" he asked again. She sighed. "Yes, thank you. I'm fine, even though that woman upset me..." Malcolm's smile widened, trying to be cheerful. "Why take a 'good time girl' like that for serious?" Dem looked at him direct and spoke straight. "Because she slept with my husband and rubbed my face in it." Malcolm's mouth fell open and shut back up, abruptly. Dem could see she'd shocked him and sought to explain. "It was long ago. We weren't married yet. But it was the way she said it. Like, even though I'm his wife, I'm just a stupid kid..." She looked down at the make up smeared handkerchief. She had no business being here. She wasn't like these people. She was just a housewife, and not a very good one it seemed..."Perhaps I am just a stupid kid..." she whispered. Malcolm watched her shoulders slump. Whatever that woman said had crushed her. "Don't talk yourself down, Red. You wanna talk yourself up, not down..." Demelza's face showed a bit more humor even as she was sad. "Red?" His Scottish accent was a little hard to parse. Malcolm smiled, warmly. "You gonna tell me a girl like you, with hair like that an' ain't no one called you 'Red' before?!" She shook her head 'no' and smiled a little more. He smiled back. She seemed really nice. You could tell she was posh, but she wasn't stuck up at all...and a proper looker too...but off limits. He'd ask her what he came to ask. A nice girl like her, married an' all, shouldn't be rattling around this place alone. The women seemed as horrid as the men in this place... "My name's Malcolm. Malcolm McNeil." He let a man pass between them before he extended his hand to her. They shook hands across the hall runner carpet. "I'm Demelza Poldark." He perked up and smiled. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance." Sir Hugh had said her name, while the others had called her 'Dem'. If Malcolm had been pressed to guess what Dem was short for, he'd never in a million years guess 'Demelza'. When Sir Hugh said it, her name seemed mysterious, a bit glamorous. Hearing her say it made it the prettiest name he'd ever heard. "That's a bonny name!" She blinked at the happy surprise at being complimented on her name. She rarely said it full on, she'd come to inhabit 'Dem' so fully... "Thank you." she said as she looked at him properly. He had a warm smile and brown eyes. His hair was cut short, shorter than many of the other men here tonight. He had a well trimmed mustache and goatee framing his mouth and it reminded her of a king on a playing card. Ross was clean shaven. For a second she wondered what it would feel like to kiss a man with a mustache like that. He was in blue jeans and a densely patterned button down shirt with a blue denim jacket over it. He tilted his head towards her. "I was leavin' an' about to hail a cab. I was wondering if I could drop you home on the way?" She sat up a little. "Oh!" She had a mind to say no but, in truth, once she had collected herself from the scene with those women, she had resolved to leave anyway. If she left with this man, perhaps she would avoid another run in with them and she could plea his offer of a cab if Sir Hugh insisted she stay...he seemed nice..."Yes, thank you." He stood and Dem was taken aback at how all arms and legs he was. He was tall and thin -gangly really-though one could see he was muscular for all he was thin as a rail, from drumming she later learned. "Did ee 'ave a wrap?" he asked, making sure she didn't leave anything behind. He offered his hand and helped her up. She waggled her purse. "No, I just have this." They went downstairs and he escorted her out of Brodrugan's party. They could both see the interest of the others in the front room and front hall as they did so. A few of those women smirked at them, pleased to see their rival scared off on the arm of the youngest (and one presumed by looking at him, brokest) kid in the place. Some of the men who played pool gave Malcolm surprised and envious looks. Malcolm tugged at his forelock at them with a smirk of derision as they passed. It was the old mark of deference, of being respectful towards your 'betters'. 'It's only some's opinion on how better they be...' thought Malcolm. These nasty men, these nasty women, convinced they were high class...He knew those men didn't give a damn about him or even Dem Poldark for that matter. Malcolm stood a little straighter as he gave Demelza the right to exit first through the door. Some of those men might think he was trying it on with her. Well, he was a gent. He would take her home and no funny business. Let them think what they like.

They were out on the pavement on a warm July night. Malcolm walked Dem to the avenue and hailed a cab. He opened the door for her and followed her in. "Alright, mate?" he asked and the driver perked up to hear it and his accent. Too many toffs round here, you never get a regular bloke hailing round here..."Brave, ta!" said the driver. "Where y'bound?" Malcolm smiled. "Please drop this lady home first an' I'll bring up the rear." Dem gave her address. The cabbie drove on. She was posh and he wasn't. They were leaving a posh postcode and going to an ordinary one. The people you meet in London...  
As they rode, Malcolm smiled affably. Dem knew she should try to make small talk but the night had worn her out. He looked at her. Here was a nice girl. Her husband was talked about by the men at the party and they weren't a reliable sort. He didn't know her husband from a hole in the wall but, whatever he was like, he shouldn't let a girl like that wander about on her own. "Ee stayin' in London?" Dem nodded. She kept her eyes forward or towards her passenger window as she spoke. "Not for long, though. We live in Cornwall, mostly." Malcolm tried to be tactful. "Ain't your husband gonna meet you here?" She shook her her head 'no'. "No, he's in Cornwall." she said, crisply. Malcolm changed tack. He did not want to pry. "Ee wanna soor ploom?" Dem turned to look at him then. She had no earthly idea what she had just been asked. "Ummmm..." she fumbled to understand. "A sore plume?" He smiled. "Aye!" he produced a quarter sweet bag from his jacket pocket and opened the top wide enough to offer her one. She plucked out a luridly green, round ball of candy. Even in the darkened cab, in the street lamp light it looked radioactive, too bright. She marveled at it. "Ain't you ever 'ad one before?" Dem smiled. "No, I haven't..." She put the boiled sweet in her mouth. It had a very pretty sweet, tart flavor which she learned later was a 'sour plum'. He popped two in his mouth, thus emptying the bag, and flattened it against his thigh with his hand. He took a pen from his pocket and wrote his name and a phone number on it. He handed it towards Dem. She did not take it and struggled to understand Malcolm's accent on top of having two candies bobbling around in his mouth. "That's an answer service. I get gigs and messages that way. You keep that by you. If ee wanna go out of an evening-like tonight- an' don't have your husband to take ee, you ring me, eh? Ee shouldn't be wandering about without someone lookin' after you..." Demelza was flattered, but this odd Scot was as much of a stranger as anyone else at that party. "It's kind of you..." she began and Malcolm headed off the 'but' he sensed coming. He looked at her earnestly. "Love, most of them geezers at that party were the sort that break lassies over their knee for sport! Ee were in a right wolf's den on top of them women tormentin' ya..." he shrugged a little. "It ain't against woman's lib to say ee need a bloke by ya, just common sense!" he raised his palms as if proving himself unarmed, the sweet bag caught between two fingers in his left hand. "I won't do you no harm. If ee ain't got your husband to take you out, I'll take ee there an' I'll see ee home safe home, no foolin'!" Dem took the offered sweet bag and smiled at him, shyly...He had done her a good turn..."Well, thank you, Malcolm." He smiled. His mustache seemed to expand like an accordion as he did so in the light of the street lamps beyond the car window. "You're welcome, Red." The cabbie announced they were a street away from Dem's destination. They arrived. Dem shook hands with him once more. "Good night." she said. "Night, Red. Don't lose that number, eh?" She smiled and nodded as she left. "Where to?" asked the cabbie. "Hang on, mate. Let's see 'er safe in..." He and the driver watched Dem walk up the steps, unlock the door, enter and then close the door behind her. The ends of the scarf caught the breeze and fluttered behind her like fairy wings, Malcolm gave his destination and the car sped away into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foxy lady, Jimi Hendrix 1967 (it was spelled 'Foxy' for the U.K. release and 'Foxey' for the U.S. one)
> 
> The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys, Traffic 1971
> 
> Barracuda, Heart 1977
> 
> Rikki Don't Lose That Number, Steely Dan 1974


	12. Perfect Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reluctant participant

I. Sir Galahad

The swinging Sixties were long gone but there was still a roaring trade for second hand clothes and accessories in boutiques and small shops up and down London. This shop had a wide array of men's and women's clothes in an Aladdin's cave and colorful riot of fifties print dresses, thirties ties and ladies hats, forties handbags and antique military coats, lending a hint of The Beatles' Sargent Pepper's to the merchandise. It smelled of every sort of fabric, but clean. The clothes were in good nick (though dry rot was a concern in some of the older garments) The walls were covered in hats, record albums, cut out pictures from magazines, hooks laden with necklaces and belts. Old airplane bags and travel cases here and there, hats, all sorts. The counter doubled as the place to pay as well as a jewelry display with costume pieces for both sexes-twinkly little rhinestone brooches, earrings and bracelets under the glass, tie tacks and cuff links and random bits in trays on top. The warm day interfered with the usual amount of customers one would have. There were just two men at the moment but the shopkeeper was content. These men were not just killing time. They looked at the clothes with serious interest and he had every expectation they would make a good sale when they'd chosen the things they liked.

Jean Quimper, pronounced in the queer lingo of the French "Jon Camp-air", a drummer from France Malcolm had cause to meet in New York happened to be in London and, having run into each other by chance in a record store, had a happy reunion. They spent an enjoyable afternoon puttering around various London shops and catching up with each other's news. Jean had been on the back of his U.S. visa as well and was in much the same position as Malcolm. The decision to remain in Europe or go to California loomed. In a vintage clothing store they browsed, flicking through a rack of military coats. Jean found a Masonic one with a large 'All Seeing Eye' embroidered on the back and tried it on, to the humor of both. Malcolm found an antique red coat with quite tarnished silver buttons. It looked quite smart on, though perhaps not as smart as it could do over jeans and a tee shirt. "'Ere, sir?" The guy behind the counter looked over at them. "Yes?" Malcolm asked, "D'ee know what sort of coat this is?" At that moment, the bell at the door jingled from being opened. A young woman with a child in a pushchair made her way in. Jean, always willing to be a gallant gentleman, rushed to hold the door open for the woman, the child and her companion as they entered. "Thanks!" said Jinny, who angled the pushchair to the side so as not to take up too much room in the shop. Dem, nodded her thanks to the guy in the peculiar coat holding the door and found herself face to face with the Scottish guy from the salon. "Oh, Red!" Malcolm stood a little straighter with a wide smile. "What d'ya reckon?", showing off the jacket as if he'd known her for years. She giggled a little. "Hello. It's...umm..." she laughed merrily. "You look like a toy soldier!" His eyes crinkled at the corners. That had pleased him. "That's all I could be, lass. I don't think I could be a proper soldier!" Jean snickered, "Ah! For you to make love and not war, eh?" They laughed, in their strange coats, over this joke. Jinny and Jeremy watched this interaction with interest. Dem colored a little. She did not mention meeting Malcolm and the sweet wrapper was still in her purse, hanging from the hall tree until it was wanted again. It was too fancy for a day to day bag. "Jinny, Jeremy, this is Malcolm, we met at that party...Jinny said hello. Malcolm introduced Jean and they avoided awkwardness by letting Dem shop without presuming more conversation. Dem tried on some things in the changing room in the back of the store. Whispered discussion could be heard, faintly as they discussed the merits of the clothing. After a time, Dem thanked the shopkeeper, she would not make a purchase today. She said a polite goodbye to Malcolm and Jean who would have resumed his assistance with the door if Malcolm had not beaten him to it. "Thank you, Buttons!" joked Jinny. Malcolm grinned. He did look like a liveried servant in the coat. "Good bye Jinny! Bye bye mate..." here Jeremy and Malcolm exchanged a little wave as Jinny backed the pushchair out of the shop. "Goodbye, R...er, Demelza!" said Malcolm. Dem smiled and waved goodbye. Jean bought two shirts he decided upon. The storekeeper ducked into the back to make sure the changing room was tidy-no clothes hanging forgotten. He came back out. "Did you know those girls?" Malcolm, who was rummaging through a tray of tie tacks-tie bars, cuff links with paste jewels, odds and ends looked up from the counter. "Aye..." He showed them a gauzy, cotton scarf. Crinkly and purple with white embroidered flowers on each end. "I think they left this here, it's not one of mine..." It was the sort of scarf one would get in one of those Indian shops. It wasn't very long, it might have fallen as she tried clothes on. Malcolm stood up, lay two tie bars and the military coat on the counter, to buy them. "I'd like these, please. An' I'll get that scarf back to 'er..."

"She's exquisite! And her friend! Where did you meet her?!" asked Jean as they walked along the pavement. "Sir Hugh Brodrugan's monthly salon." "Oh!" Jean heard it talked about but didn't see Malcolm as the sort to be in those circles. "I thought that one needed an invitation to that...?" Malcolm smiled. "I did! I blagued one off of Sir Hugh 'imself! He was at Abbey Road same time I was!" Jean looked at him sharply, with new interest. "You have tricks up your sleeve!" he said with admiration. Malcolm shrugged. "Sometimes it's about bein' in the right place at the right time!" Jean gave a dark laugh. "Will you pursue her?" Malcolm frowned. "Nay, she's married." Jean raised an eyebrow, this to tease. "No!" Malcolm sounded a bit put out that Jean would suggest it, trying to go for a married girl. Jean laughed, clapped him on the back to show he was teasing. Jean knew Malcolm was the closest thing to a proper boy scout there could be. "You are like Sir Galahad, with the stainless honor!" he chuckled. Malcolm rolled his eyes. "I ain't foolin' with somebody's missus...but I will get 'er scarf back to 'er..." they kept walking. "Which one's Sir Galahad?" asked Malcolm. "Sir Galahad was Lancelot's son. He was the knight of stainless honor, an innocent," said Jean. "He was pure enough to find the Holy Grail." Malcolm was not well versed in Arthurian legend. "Why do they talk about Lancelot more, though? I 'eard of 'im..." Jean chuckled again. "You'd not be Lancelot, mon amie. Lancelot had the stainless honor until he committed adultery with King Arthur's queen, Guinevere.

II. Dear Prudence

On a clear July, Monday morning, Malcolm walked up Demelza's street, trying to remember which house was hers. He was on his way to practice his drumming and figured he try to give the scarf back on the way. It had been night when he'd brought her home from the party and the architecture of the houses were all similar. Malcolm had the good fortune of seeing Jinny leaving through the front door with Jeremy in his pushchair. "Jinny, love!" Jinny stood up straight from being bent over the stroller, getting it down the steps onto the pavement, and looked about in confusion. Who on earth was calling her 'love'? She saw the Scottish bloke, from the other day, coming up the walk with Demelza's scarf. "Hello, mate!" Malcolm smiled at Jeremy and Jeremy smiled in return. Malcolm looked up from Jeremy. "Hello, Jinny. Is Red about?" Jinny frowned. She understood her name, but the rest of the sentence made no sense at all. "Red?" she asked. Malcolm smiled. "Is Demelza at home? She left her scarf behind in that shop the other day." She smiled. "Oh, yes. I can give it to her if you like." Jinny extended her hand. Malcolm had the barest look of disappointment before his face reassembled itself to betray nothing. "I thought I might 'and it back myself..." Jinny smiled wider. He seemed nice enough and she could wait to leave with Jeremy. "Come on in then..." He smiled. "Name's Malcolm, Malcolm McNeil." he said, cheerfully and shook her hand. Jinny smiled, he was a goofy sort of bloke...

Demelza could hear the door open again from the lounge. "Did you forget something?" she called and was surprised to see Jinny wheeling Jeremy back into the hall with that Malcolm bringing up the rear. He had her scarf. "Oh! I thought that had gone for good..." said Demelza. Her enjoyment of not having lost her scarf was muted. He smiled. "I kep' it safe for ee..." She spoke again, her chin on her knees, curled up on the sofa. "Thank you for bringing it." She looked to Jinny. "Thank you, Jinny. You can get on with Jeremy, I'll be fine..." Jinny nodded and Malcolm held the door open as she took Jeremy to the park. Malcolm lay the scarf on the seat of the slender hall tree, in the corner, and turned to look at Red. She sat on a squashy sofa that looked comfy, if a bit shabby, and had her knees drawn up, much like when he first met her. It was as if she was trying to curl in on herself. Trying to make herself disappear. He took a step forward when Garrick came into the hall and started to bark in a friendly manner and leap around him. Malcolm grinned 'not one a them pure breeds,' he thought, 'a friendly ol' mutt 'e is...' He'd half expected the Poldarks to have a posh dog. "Who's this then?!" Malcolm got down on one knee to look Garrick in the face. "Who's this good boy, eh?" He rubbed his neck and scratched his ears. He stood back up as Garrick relished the attention. "That's Garrick..." Demelza felt guilt over bringing Garrick to London. He did not have the space to run and exercise as he had become used to in Nampara. She didn't take him to the park often. Just walked enough to relieve himself. She worried over it but didn't feel able to correct it. "'E's a big'un for the city." said Malcolm. "Do you walk 'im hereabouts?" Malcolm could see Garrick was restless. "Not as much as I should..." she admitted. Malcolm could hear guilt in her voice and see she was unhappy, too unhappy, to get out and about herself, let alone the dog. "Why don't you show me where 'e likes t'play, eh?" Demelza actually curled herself into a tighter ball on the sofa. "Oh...maybe some other time..." 'Poor ol' Red...' thought Malcolm. He scratched Garrick's ears again. "Ee wanna play about, don't ya Garrick?!" As if to say 'yes', Garrick barked. Malcolm spoke in a chipper sort of pleading. "C'mon, lass. It ain't rainin', it's a nice day. Perfect day for bein' out and about! Show me where ol' Garrick likes to play..." Demelza looked at them over her knees and smiled. She recognized Malcolm's tone of voice for she had employed it herself when she'd coaxed Ross out of his depressed moods after Julia died. Malcolm was trying to get her to go outside more than Garrick. She was charmed by it. "Oh, alright. But let me leave Jinny a note, if she comes back before we do..."

She went to write the note. Malcolm scritched Garrick's head and entered the lounge, while he waited for her to return. It was comfy, a nice large room. The furnishings looked to be from the 50s or early 60s, boxy upholstered chairs, a wood console that held a turntable inside and records underneath. There was an upright piano on the far side of the room. He stood over it and looked at the pictures, in frames, on its top. A wedding photo of someones parents, the husband, Malcolm guessed. A wedding photo of Red with her husband. Malcolm, again, considered how posh the Poldarks were. Mam an' Da had a wedding photo, but not the same quality as these. Tucked into the frame of their picture was a small snapshot with a scalloped edge on the border. It curled at the top where it wasn't set in the frame but was not so bent one couldn't see the whole thing. Red and her husband smiling at who ever was behind the camera, dressed in winter clothes. The husband was carrying a baby by tucking it in the front of his coat. It seemed like a girl, there was a pale, fluffy hat on her head with a pom pom on top. The little head popped out of the v neck of his overcoat, all three of them bright eyed and smiling. It was adorable. Maybe Jinny looked after the little'un and the older sister went to playschool... Demleza turned the corner, into the lounge, holding Garrick's lead. The clink of the metal chain between the collar and the leather strap turned Malcolm's attention. He smiled and gestured to the picture. "She looks a bonny wee lass. She's your older bairn?" he asked, cheerfully. She smiled, sadly. "That's Julia. We lost her..." Malcolm paled a little, his eyes widened, that she should have had a child die..."Oh, forgive me...I'm sorry..." Dem's sad smile was unchanged. "It's nothing to forgive. You weren't to know..." She looked at Ross and Julia. Verity had taken that picture with Andrew's camera, when they brought Julia to meet Agatha and Charles, not long before Charles died. They showed the happy smiles of three people who loved Verity and loved each other and had no idea that they had so little time together... Malcolm swallowed. He'd put their walk on the wrong foot, so to speak. She was sad once more. She looked at the photo, wistfully. 'Poor old Red...' for he had fixed that name in his mind for her. 'Poor old Red...' He smiled warmly and gently touched her shoulder. She looked to him, apologetically and smiled back. He had a warm, friendly look, close to pity, but mostly friendly. "C'mon, lass...we'll take Garrick out to play..."

The day was sunny and pretty. Demelza walked Garrick on his lead to the larger park, better landscaped and well appointed compared to the nearby play ground she often took Garrick to in her melancholic mood. She did feel a bit better to feel the sun on her face and have Garrick by her side. Malcolm walked along with them and took pains not to fuss over her like a mother hen. Malcolm and Demelza went to the green areas of the park and played fetch awhile. Dem had been so sedentary recently fetch was all she could manage, even as Garrick bound around her, so happy to have her back. She sat on the ground and hugged him as he licked her face and she laughed. Malcolm watched her play with Garrick, it was clear she'd had him awhile...they were pals... She lay on her back and looked up into the sky as she held Garrick to her and he nestled his snout at her neck. He was content, once more, to lay quiet with mummy. Garrick struggled to remember when they'd rested on the ground like this. He wouldn't even chase a rabbit now, even if one came and tweaked his nose. He'd stay with mummy...he'd missed their play... the sky was blue, and she could hear a bee buzzing, quite near...she could smell flowers and grass and Garrick was happy...for a bright moment, perhaps even she was happy...She sighed, and stood up. She proceeded to thwack Garrick on his flanks in a way Malcolm found alarming. "Steady on, lass! Ee'll well near knock 'im over!" She laughed and Garrick barked, happily. "He prefers it, he doesn't respect people who try to just pet him..." she chuckled, "He grew up rough and tumble, like me..." Malcolm puzzled over this. He could not imaging Red being 'dragged up', raised common. Red was a lady...

After a time, Malcolm installed Red on a park bench and let her sit while Malcolm and Garrick got a good run around, the sort of play a dog his size required. She watched them run and chase as they got further away. She took the time to close her eyes and breathe in the soft summer air deeply. The sun was warm and the clouds stretched across the sky in trailing strands, like streamers at a fair. The scent of grass and flowers was a tonic. Garrick enjoyed chasing Malcolm, his willingness to dodge and feint and play with him. It felt good to play with Garrick, properly, again. She thought about when she was younger and she and Garrick had acres of time and acres of space to play in the open air, on the grass, near the sea. She smiled at how big he'd gotten. How he remained sweet and didn't seem to realize he wasn't a puppy anymore. He leapt about and seemed so happy. He lay with her, and seemed so happy, as if time never moved forward, as if they could stay Garrick and Demi forever...

Jinny squinted, for she was not certain it was Dem. She wheeled Jeremy closer and, sure enough, there was Dem on a park bench and the Scottish bloke playing fetch with Garrick some yards away. "Look Jer! It's Mama!" and Dem turned, smiled at them both. Jinny was impressed. Malcolm had moved a mountain! Jinny had a devil of a time persuading Dem to go anywhere. Dem stood and gave Jinny a hug and knelt to remove Jeremy from the stroller. Jeremy bolted, to go play with Garrick, in the drunken looking gait of a little person, bearing the occasional trip and fall as an adventure rather than calamity. Having seen Malcolm intercept Jeremy and swing him around in a circle, setting him back down and them both enjoying Jeremy's dizzy feeling as he cackled and fell to the grass, watching the sky swirl gently and felt the earth rock to and fro. Dem surmised he was in safe hands and the girls sat down to chat and watch the proceedings. "'E's good wi'him!" marveled Jinny. Dem smiled. "Yes, Garrick needed more exercise than he was getting..." Jinny smiled. 'Crafty beggar...!' she thought, with admiration. She never thought to use Garrick to lure Dem outside. They talked of household things. There was the shop to be done and laundry to do. They had a washer of their own now so they did not have to use the launderette. One aspect of poor planning when Demelza left Nampara was leaving her guitars behind. There was an upright piano at the flat, and she did not feel like using it. She had not played guitar since she left. Her days were filled with housewifery and not much music. Malcolm brought Jeremy up to the park bench on his shoulders and Garrick trotted along side. "Hello, Jinny, love! How are you?" Jinny smiled. "I be fine, thank you!" Malcolm was a goofy bloke, but he had helped Dem and seemed nice. "Mama! I'm tall!" Demelza laughed. "My goodness, Jeremy! You're the tallest of all!" Very gently, Malcolm placed Jeremy on the ground and he rushed forward to hug his mother. Dem leaned forward and put her arms around him and enjoyed having his little arms around her neck as Garrick trotted forward and licked her cheek. The day was sunny and the sky was blue...it was a nice reminder that blue was not only a downcast color, Dem had been mired in the blues, but blue could also be cheerful and fresh and bright and happy...She looked up at Malcolm, Jeremy still embracing her. "Thank you, Blue." Malcolm smiled wider. "Blue?" She sat up and put Jeremy on her lap. "Well, if you're going to call me a color, I might as well call you one too!" He laughed. Blue. Yes. That was nice... "Aye! That's a fair cop!" he said. He escorted them back to the flat and it was agreed that Blue would come by on Mondays and Wednesdays and give Garrick a good play before he went on to his rehearsal room to practice his drums. Red did not have to come with him if she chose, but that insured that Garrick got good exercise twice a week. They had tea and Malcolm took his leave, to practice drumming. Red, Jinny and Jeremy waved from the front door and he turned up the walk.

Dem arrived as May was ending. May turned to June. June turned to July. July turned to August. They were still in London. Ross was not better. Dem wondered if she did the right to leave, sometimes, but she resolved not to let Jeremy see his father in altered states so that, at least, made her decision the correct one. Jud and Prudie kept their eyes on Ross and made sure he was eating. They did not insert themselves into Ross' situation. They simply tended the home and continued to keep Dem abreast of his behavior. Ross had stopped using heroin, but seemed to be drinking more. Prudie wasn't convinced he'd stopped using drugs even if it wasn't heroin. Dem resolved to be stoic. Ross had to right himself and it wasn't her responsibility. Her responsibility was to their son. If their life should resume, Jeremy will have avoided seeing the worst of it.

III. I'll Be Your Mirror

True to his word, Blue walked Garrick twice a week, took tea with Jinny afterwards, as Jeremy usually had a nap at that time, and went off to play drums. He started coming by on Saturdays too and he would bring Garrick, Jeremy and Red out, rain or shine, to get a morning's walk. He would return and play games with Jeremy and color with crayons and have a nice visit before they had tea and he took his leave. This let Jinny have Saturdays off and became a nice arrangement. On Saturdays, Blue would bring Jeremy a toy car. There was a toy shop near the building where he kept his drums and they weren't too dear. They were die cast metal with plastic windows and had all the specs-the name of the car and the make-stamped into the underside. Jeremy was pleased to have them. As time went on, he had enough to play very elaborate games with Blue on the carpet of the flat. Cops and robbers, Le Mains and when Blue plumped for the James Bond Aston Martin, spies.

Blue did not pry into Red's business but he knew she had not intended to stay in London this long. Jinny, tactfully, told Blue that Red's husband was going through a 'rough patch' and things hadn't settled yet. Between them, Jinny and Blue gave Demelza space. Jinny looked after Jeremy and Blue minded Garrick for her as well as looking after Jeremy on Saturdays. She would stay in bed sometimes and they would not fret her. Blue made Saturday non negotiable-Red must go out, even in poor weather-but, during the week, they were tender towards her. If she did not want to get up, they let her be.

Demezla had waved Blue off on Wednesday and then was surprised to find Jeremy using his potty like a champion. It seemed that, being possessed of the same workings and grown up among brothers, Blue had counseled Jeremy on the art of aiming properly. Red and Jinny made no mention of this, but they remained in Blue's debt.

On Saturday, they had their walk but Jeremy, who might have been in the midst of a growth spurt, was tired and had his nap early. Red and Blue sat in the lounge and chuckled over Kind Hearts And Coronets on TV. Without direct intention, Red sat closer to Blue and he put his arm around her. She snuggled into his side as they watched the film and she fell into a doze. Malcolm did not think it forward to let her be. He rested his cheek against her head and waited for her to wake up. She stretched and sat up. Malcolm removed his arm. "You looked like you needed the rest..." he said. She yawned. "I guess I did..." and settled back into the crook of his arm. They were both aware that this embrace wasn't quite right, but felt there wasn't any harm. Malcolm knew Red was off limits and he made a point of knowing his place. Demelza enjoyed the closeness without feeling it beyond the pale. At length, the film ended and they got up. Red woke Jeremy and they had tea. Blue left late for he didn't want Jeremy to have slept through his playtime and not have it. Jinny returned from having been out and suggested they have fish and chips rather than cook a meal. Blue offered to help her carry it back. So they all had a nice dinner of fish and chips with black currant squash and talked and laughed and Demelza 's mood was lightened in a way it had not been in some time. Blue read Jeremy a story before he left, which fascinated Jinny and Demelza as well, hearing it in a Scottish accent. They said a cheerful goodbye and he gave Garrick a hearty wack on the flanks and he went home as the sun was starting to set and the August warmth settled into night. Jeremy was put to bed and Dem and Jinny sat in the garden for a while, each with a glass of port. "Blue was good with Jeremy today..." said Demelza. "Ais," said Jinny , "Blue's a good'un..." They finished their port and turned in for the night. Demelza felt better for having been hugged and held by Malcolm. He gave her a bit of comfort and she appreciated it. It didn't have to be more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perfect Day, Lou Reed 1973
> 
> Sir Galahad, Rick Wakeman 1975
> 
> Dear Prudence, The Beatles 1968
> 
> Dear Prudence, let me see you smile  
> Dear Prudence, like a little child  
> The clouds will be a daisy chain  
> So let me see you smile again  
> Dear Prudence, won't you let me see you smile?  
> Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play  
> Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day  
> The sun is up, the sky is blue  
> It's beautiful and so are you  
> Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play?
> 
> I'll Be Your Mirror, The Velvet Underground 1967
> 
> mon amie: my friend
> 
> Le Mains: The world's oldest sports car endurance race, they race over 24 hours in June
> 
> Blue would bring Jeremy a toy car: Corgi and Dinky brand toy cars are die cast metal cars that are larger than the Matchbox or Hot Wheels little cars one sees these days


	13. Tell Me Your Plans(Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missed Call  
> Time Tested Remedy  
> Tea and Sympathy

I.

"Hello, Prudie," said Demelza on the telephone. "Can I speak to Ross?"

"No. He's bin takin' too much. He ain't awake." Prudie murmured.

Dem froze. "Too much of what?"

"Not the drugs, if that be what your thinkin'. He bin takin' too much liquor." Demelza sat down on the nearest kitchen chair with a thud.

"Drinking?" Prudie could hear alarm in Dem's voice. She didn't like to continue but she felt Dem had to know.

"He ain't on the drugs no more. He bin on drink." Prudie heard Dem breathing faster, trying not to cry. And failing. Demelza started crying, out of fear and frustration.

"P-prudieeeee, what am I going to doooooo?!"

Prudie held her forehead in her hand, elbow perched on the table and sighed. "Hush now, maid. Don't be keenin'. You gonna look after yer little'un and let Mr. Ross sort hisself out." Dem whimpered, "What if he doesn't?! Oh god, Prudie, I won't be able to cope if he starts drinking for serious! I can't live like that!" Prudie looked over to Jud who was standing in the doorway. "He'll mend, by and by...You'll see. He ain't gonna be no drunk!" Demelza started to wail loud enough Jud could hear her through the phone. "You hush now!" said Prudie, sharply. "What about the mite?!" Dem blew her nose. "Jinny's got him at the park..." Prudie sighed. "Even anyhow, you need to look after yerself an' the boy. Ross be grown, he's got to pull 'imself up an' all, but you weepin' an' wailin' ain't gonna fix nothin'!" Dem sniffed. "You'll tell him I called?" Demelza whispered. "Aye, that I will." "Thank you, Prudie..." Prudie felt like a villain, poor Dem cast out of her own home..."Ee look after yerself,maid. You's a strong gurl..." Dem hung up. She went out and sat in a chair in the garden. The day was bleak and overcast. It suited her mood. Everything was bleak and she was frightened.

Prudie got up and put the phone back on the wall. She sighed. "What do he want to do it for?!" Jud crossed his arms in the doorway. "He be too much like ol' Joshua..." Prudie was annoyed. "He ain't enough like 'is pa! Joshua never carried on so when Mistress Grace were alive!" She looked at the clock, it was nearly 11:00. "Aye. But that be all young Ross did see..." Jud leaned against the doorjamb. "Neither o' them two could deal wi' black times." Prudie sighed. "Can you run me to the shops? I'm all of a skitter! I'd as likely run meself off the road!" Jud frowned. "Ee did yer shop not two day ago?" said Jud. "We ain't got jelly in the 'ouse" said Prudie. Jud sighed in annoyance. "Ee think babyin' 'im'll make a blind bit of difference?!" Prudie shrugged. "Plain vittles be wha he need if 'e gonna drown 'is neck in liquor. It can't hurt. I owes it to the maid to see he eat proper..." she sighed again. "...an' he ain't well..." Jud drove to the store and parked. Prudie gave him a strained smile. "Won't be a minute..." "'Ere," said Jud, "Ain't ee got a kiss fer yer chauffeur?" Prudie's face relaxed into a proper smile. He turned in his seat, took her hand and his eyes crinkled at the corners as she kissed a sweet little peck on the lips. "Take yer time..." said Jud. She left to go shopping and he watched her. She could stop a clock when they met. He had eyes for no other. Prudie was his girl. He sighed. Whether it be him or her, they never knew, but they never did have children of their own. He knew it pained her, and him an' all, if he was honest...They became the sort of couple that looks after someone else's home and through that became fond of the Poldarks. They were careful not to overstep their role as caretakers but Prudie relished caring for Ross and Dem and their little'uns. Ross was erring. Badly. Months had passed. Jud did not think it would go on this long but resisted getting involved. Ross had upset Dem, which was bad enough but Prudie saying she was too nervous to drive was a line that Ross had now crossed. Upsetting his own wife was Ross' business. Upsetting Prudie made it Jud's business now. Prudie looked to coddle Ross. Let her. That was her way. But Jud resolved to have words with Ross. This had gone on long enough.

Ross was hungover. He struggled to see what time it was. The nights drew in earlier. It would be October soon. 5:00. He'd slept the day away. There was nothing to anchor him to anything. The evening might as well be morning and vice versa. If he didn't drink, he would stay awake. If he stayed awake he would think. Ross disliked thinking. If he could make his mind like a blank sheet of paper he would prefer it. He'd used heroin to help him block out thinking and now he was utilizing alcohol to the same end. If he thought he would remember too much and he did not want that. On the other hand, Ross did not want what was in front of him either. If he kept on like this, Demelza would leave him. Dem made it plain she would not return if he didn't stop making these poor choices. He smelled roast beef, or beef broth. He was hungry for all his head hurt. He pulled on his shirt, lank and worn before, from the library floor, and went to the kitchen.

Jud had finished his meal. He sat across from the doorway with a newspaper in front of his face, reading. Prudie was finishing up what seemed to be beef and carrots and potatoes. They looked over to Ross with a sour expression. Prudie nodded and motioned for him to sit down, then she stood and went over to the hob. With a clatter of silverware and a glass of warm milk, she placed a plainly cooked chicken breast in front of him. Ross stared at it in disbelief. She had cooked the sort of food for when he was sick as a child. He had half a mind to be sarcastic. 'Do I get a spoonful of The Linctus too?' he thought, remembering the foul cough mixture Prudie used to give him. But the Paynters were not in a mood for backtalk, man or boy. He ate like a penitent. Ross had to admit the plain food sat well in his stomach. She took his plate and glass away and set a mug of steaming hot beef tea in front of him. Ross looked up at her with red rimmed eyes of gratitude. She flicked her eyes toward him, briefly, and sat back down to finish her plate. Jud looked over the edge of his newspaper at Ross. Ross knew what was coming. He was thirty-three, for christssake, but he waited. Jud lowered his paper to look at Ross directly. "Yer missus bin gone neigh on four month." Ross lowered his chin. Nodded 'yes' and drank his broth. "I didn't say nothin', did I?" "No." said Ross, quietly. "I didn't say word one 'bout it, did I?" asked Jud. "No." said Ross. "Ee know why tha be?" Ross stared at him and nodded 'yes' and then looked down at the mug. Jud folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. "Eh? What's tha? Didn't hear tha...?" Ross did not look up. "Yes." said Ross. Ross knew Jud had not spoken because he assumed Ross would not let things go on this long. Ross had forced their hand. Ross looked at Jud as Prudie took the empty mug of broth away. She went to open the refrigerator. The familiar 'tap, tap, tap...' of her inverting a teacup on to a saucer. Ross closed his eyes, utterly depressed. He heard a dish and spoon rattle in front of him and he knew before he opened his eyes what it was. He opened his eyes and looked down. There was a Blue Willow saucer with a humped, teacup sized serving of cherry jelly, with the spoon along side, just so. He looked at Jud, contrite." We bin sat 'ere, waitin' on you to wake up t'make certain sure ee did eat som'ing. We's set to go now. You need to straighten up! Ee gots a missus and a little'un waitin'! All yer drinkin' ain't gonna bring yer chibby back an' playin' around wi' Mistress Elizabeth ain't gonna help nothin'!" Ross bowed his head over his invalid's dessert. Jud's chair scraped the floor as he got up. Prudie set the dishes in the sink. She would wash them when they returned in the morning. She left the kitchen without looking at Ross at all. Jud turned to go himself but stopped at the door.

"My Prudie had to tell yer missus that you was too damn drunk to talk this morning. Ee might as well a taken a strap to Dem like 'er no account pa! You get yerself right! If'n ee don't get our Dem an' yer little'un back 'ome where they belong an' stand by 'er like ee damn well know you should when she do come 'ome, then you's gonna ruin yer bloody life all by yerself! We ain't gonna sit here an' watch!" Jud walked off, muttering, "Ee did ought count yer blessin's 'stead a mopin' an' carryin' on..."

Ross heard them leave. He looked at the shiny blob of cherry jelly and laughed a little, even though he felt profoundly sad. "Yes." thought Ross. "Stop being selfish, stop being foolish. Bring Dem and Jeremy home and mend your ways." Ross sat back in his chair and looked about the kitchen. He'd been given a talking to in this room more than once. If it took Jud and Prudie treating a thirty three year old man like a child, to get him to see sense, well, that made him an utter goddamned fool. He sighed and picked up the spoon. He ate his jelly and set the dish in the sink. He stilled over the drain. He smelled the quite sharp smell of alcohol in the drain. Ross ducked his chin, again. He smiled even as he felt sad and ashamed. He turned out the kitchen light and went out the back door, outside. There, by the rubbish bins, was a full metal bin of empties. Far too much for one person, but he had drunk them. To its left, a second bin nearly full. Ross chaffed under Prudie's disapproval as she puttered about the kitchen tonight, barely acknowledging him. She looked like she was ignoring him but she had not. Prudie had poured out every drop of liquor in the house. Even Dem's port. Everything. Ross stared at it for a while. He returned to the library and to dreary tableau of his makeshift bedroom. He sat down on the cot, forlorn.

II.

Malcolm was still a little winded from rushing back from the rehearsal room to Red's house. He rang the bell, trying to be nonchalant but he was giddy and excited. Demelza agreed to go see a film tonight. Not that it was a date, mind. Demelza had looked at Blue sadly at first when he'd asked her to the cinema. "Blue, can't you see how I'm fixed? I'm married to Ross, I can't be your girlfriend..."Malcolm looked straight at her, looked into her eyes, trying to make her see he was sincere. "I promise I'm not tryin' it on, I swear! It's just...I like your company. It don't 'ave to be like that! It don't 'ave to be boyfriend an' girlfriend! We can be mates!" he ducked his chin. "I know my place." he said, earnestly. Jinny opened the door and Jeremy lurched towards him. "Hello, mate!" Malcolm picked him up and put him on his hip. Jinny looked tense but did smile a little thinking, 'Blue holds Jer the way he's seen Dem do...' "Hello Jinny, love. Is Red about? We was goin' to the cinema." "She's in the back garden, come through, Blue." Malcolm followed Jinny, still carrying Jeremy down through to the kitchen. He could see Red through the glass doors that led to the back garden. Even thought it had gotten dark she was sat out there with her chin on her knees and her arms hugging her legs on a chair in the garden. Jinny and Malcolm managed to have the following conversation, over Jeremy's head, without speaking:

Malcolm: Raised eyebrows. 'Oh! Has she been like that for long?'

Jinny: Tilt of the head toward the glass doors, nods. 'Most of the afternoon.'

Malcolm: Frowns. Tilts head toward the telephone on the wall. 'Her husband let her down?'

Jinny: Twists mouth and gives a knowing look with one eyebrow raised. 'And who else is it likely to be?'

Malcolm spoke. "'Ere we are Jer. You sit wi' Jinny." Blue and Jinny exchanged a sympathetic look. "Jinny? Can ee brew up a pot, love? I don't think we're leavin'..." Jinny and Malcolm set Jeremy in his chair, with his back to the garden doors and Malcolm went out into the garden. Demelza was not crying, but her reddened eyes showed she had earlier. Malcolm pulled one of the garden chairs near to her and sat down. She looked at him and struggled with herself as to trying not to unload her unhappiness on to Blue and the need to talk. Malcolm smiled and said, "You look fed up, love." She rested her chin back on her knees as she nodded 'yes'. "Well," said Blue, "We all get fed up, sometimes." Red started to cry. He placed his hand on her arm, gently. "Don't upset yourself, Red. Jeremy's in the kitchen. You're alright, love. It'll be alright..." She wiped her eyes and sighed raggedly. "Yes. You're right. I'm afraid I'm not up for a film tonight." Blue smiled and asked, "That's alright. Have ee had your supper?" She shook her head 'no'. "Well then," said Blue, "Since we're in for the night, why don't I take Jer down the chippie and get us some dinner?" Red smiled, wanly. "Would you?' Demelza was grateful. "Aye, lass. You sit with Jinny awhile an' 'ave a cuppa. Jeremy an' I'll get the food in." Malcolm went back inside. "Jeremy, lad! Ee wanna come out to the chip shop wi' me?" Jeremy perked up at this. He almost never got to go out when it was dark outside. "Yeah! Yeah I wan t'go!" said Jeremy. Blue turned to Jinny. "I'm goin' down the chippie, love. What d'ya fancy?" She smiled. "If they're fryin' haddock, let me have that, if they ain't, cod please! Thanks, Blue." The thank you was not just for fish and chips. "You're welcome, Jinny. Give me a hand with his pushchair, eh?" They went back into the foyer and settled Jeremy in his stroller. Malcolm brought it down the steps and set him gently on the pavement. They walked up the road to get their supper. As they approached to chip shop, glowing with its lights as the evening drew dark, Malcolm could see, written in grease pencil on the window glass, "Frying tonite-cod, haddock,skate and salmon" "Oh, Jer! Jinny's gonna 'ave 'er haddock tonight!" said Boo, brightly. He maneuvered the pushchair into the store and, in a broad voice, greeted the people inside. "Alright, lads?" The smattering of men inside nodded and called out "Alright..." and he got Jeremy closer to the counter. An older man in a flat cap asked, "You a Scot, lad?" Malcolm actually stood a little taller, with pride. "Aye, sir!" "Yer missus got ya babysittin', then?" asked another man with a racing newspaper. Malcolm looked down at Jeremy who was looking up at him with a bright smile- not like Red...Ross' smile..."Naw, 'e's a good'un, but 'e ain't mine. I'm helpin' a friend," He turned to the counter. "And, to that end, I need three cod an' chips an' one haddock an' chips, please!" As they waited for the food to be ready both Malcolm and Jeremy felt the warm lull of waiting around in a shop full of clever, older men who had the gift of gab. The smell of hot food, an argument about dog racing and a tinny radio, playing from a room beyond made them both feel strangely calm. "Right-o! Did you want yer vinegar now?" Malcolm smiled. "Nay, I better not. Those at home know I'd just drown the lot of it!" There were cheerful guffaws. The old men could see their younger selves in Malcolm. He was working class. "Right, lads. Good night! Say bye, Jer!" Jeremy waved goodbye to the men in the chip shop and they made their way home in the darkened streets. As he walked, he pondered over Ross Poldark. He was a weirdie, thought Malcolm. Jeremy was a darling boy, Red was a looker, in love with Ross-crazy about him. Wouldn't any man want a set up like that? He seemed not to care about them, not like he should. They got closer to the flat, passing the glow of the basement flat windows at pavement level. Malcolm could see other families suppers being cooked on the hob or set on the counter as he passed. He looked down at Jeremy who was squirming a little, kicking out with his feet. "Nearly home, Jer! An' your Mam, an' Jinny an' you an' me'll all 'ave chips!" Jeremy thumped his right foot on the little bar in front of his feet, an aimless fidget, a good natured way to pass time when one is wheeled around. "Yay!" said Jeremy and he smiled up at Boo as they got closer to home. Malcolm smiled back. 'Why am I playin' house with Ross Poldark's missus?' Malcolm rejected thought at once. 'I'm not. I'm helping a friend.' He looked at Jeremy, cranning his neck to smile up at him again. 'Two friends...' thought Malcolm.

III.

To thank Blue for treating them to fish and chips the week before, Demelza asked him to stay Saturday for a home cooked meal. He came to the flat, had their walk and then left Garrick at the flat to go to the supermarket. Red would purchase some regular groceries as well as for the meal. Red wheeled Jeremy in his stroller and Blue walked alongside, talking of this, talking of that. She liked to hear about session work and the different sorts of music Malcolm was hired to play. She liked to imagine being busy with music and liked to hear the ins and outs of it all. Jeremy was placed in the front seat of the shopping trolley and they collapsed the pushchair, setting it at a jarring angle in the back. Red left them in the biscuit aisle and went to the meat counter. As she returned with her packets of meat she saw Blue and Jeremy in a serious study of the cookies around them. "Oh! Ginger nuts! What d'ya reckon, Jer? Ee like ginger nuts?" "Yeah!" said Jeremy. "Blue! We're here to buy proper food, not a bunch of biscuits!" peering at the Bourbon Creams that were already in the trolley. "This country was built on biscuits, Red! Scotland too!" he turned to Jeremy, "Gotta eat 'em up for Queen an' country, don't we, Jer?" Jeremy laughed. Red rolled her eyes but did not object to adding ginger nuts to the cart. They went down other aisles. Demelza was a strict shopper. Other than Blue's biscuit choices, she got what was on her list. No more, no less. There was a lull in the day for all it was Saturday and when they went to pay, the cashiers were not busy. They smiled over Malcolm keeping Jeremy occupied as Demelza paid for the groceries. "Och! You got my nose! What are you gonna do with my nose, Jer!" Jeremy was holding Malcolm's nose as Malcolm pretended that Jeremy was strong enough to turn his head back and forth. Jeremy's laughter was charming and the shop ladies clucked and made a fuss over him. "Aw...bless 'im..." They restored Jeremy to the pushchair. Malcolm took the carrier bags and Demelza wheeled Jeremy towards the exit as he waved goodbye to to shop ladies and they waved to him. As they left they heard one of them say, "We could do wi' more young blokes like 'im these days!" A chorus of "Aye..." and general harrumphs of agreement followed. "Lookin' after 'is little'un, handing over his pay packet to 'is missus-that's how life used to be!" More murmurs of agreement. "Proper little family, that!" Red and Blue exchanged amused and faintly embarrassed smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell Me Your Plans, The Shirts 1978  
> Demelza Poldark's Revolver performance has been lost, it is not in the archive. Luckily The Shirts performance of Tell me Your Plans, with Annie Golden chewing gum like a champion as she sings it, is on YouTube
> 
> jelly: Jell-o, gelatin dessert
> 
> chibby: baby, Julia


	14. Yakety Yak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Improvements

Jud and Prudie were creatures of habit rather than having any sort of religious bent. They ate simply during the week but Sunday meant a roast of some sort. A proper, slap up meal every Sunday. This day they enjoyed a roast chicken, roast potatoes that were crisp and nubbled with crumbs of roughened potato and a sprinkle of flour, to catch the fat on the outside, wonderfully soft on the inside. Bread stuffing accompanied the meal in a small baking dish, fragrant with sage and onion. The gravy was richly flavored and coated all it touched like velvet. A bright serving of green peas added color to the plate and they enjoyed quiet talk of this and that with their dinner guest.  
The wooden cabinet radio Jud and Prudie bought when they first moved into their house played the old dance numbers they cut a rug to in their youth and the syrupy love songs that would end the set at the old fashioned dance halls of an earlier time. Ross, 33 years of age, cross legged and obedient, sat facing Prudie, on the floor next to Jud's newspaper basket as she wound a ball of wool from the skein, wrapped and held around his hands. There was a calm between them now. The Paynters had been flummoxed by Ross' heroin use. They sat to the side worrying. But he'd stopped using drugs and fell headlong into drink. The Paynters were not strangers to the heartache of tending drunks. The Paynters took it upon themselves to risk utilizing their shepherd's crook once more, risked making Ross annoyed enough to fire them and resumed their on again off again role as his...well? One could say guardians. It wouldn't be too much of a presumption. They feared dismissal without considering that the reverse was also true. Jud's insistence that they would quit if Ross didn't correct himself frightened Ross with the one threat that would not fail. Ross did not want to be alone. He wanted to feel connected to people. Even when he was surly, even when he was haughty, even when he told himself he needed no one and behaved as such. The small Ross inside him simply wanted to have family around him, be they blood, or the cobbled together assortment of servants, band members or a former underage runaway who served that role for him. He'd kicked once more. It would be more virtuous to suggest it was solely for Jeremy's sake, but the specter of getting caught buying drugs on the street and getting arrested was preying on Ross' mind. It became a concern large enough to break through his habit. Ross avoided Truro, started to skulk around St Ives, started to go further afield, chasing smack far from the hearth much the same way his father had chased his women about. Ross knew he was risking himself and the fall out from getting arrested was too ugly to contemplate. He'd resolved to kill himself if he had been convicted at trial, years earlier. He'd not last in prison. He knew that about himself. He talked a good game and had an imposing scar on his face but he knew, deep down, he was just a spoiled, upper class boy who, when he wasn't making a nuisance of himself, hid in Prudie's apron and Dem's bed...  
Dem's empty bed. It lay dormant. A new goal was forming inside Ross. He had to earn his way back to bed. Elizabeth and George had a romantic elopement in Paris, a glossy reception once they returned to England. Held in London and attended by a glittering assortment of music industry guests as well as the great and worthy in society circles. They'd even had their own feature in the Telegraph On Sunday. Ross hated himself for buying it but he had to see. Shot at Trenwith and George's London home. A glamorous couple, in their glamorous surroundings while Ross lay on a blood speckled cot in the library of Nampara and Dem persevered in their modest London flat. It stung. It was another dissatisfaction that nudged him towards correcting himself.  
Jud and Prudie, so distressed by Dem's heartbreak-woken up by it, they served the family, not just Ross-made a point of keeping Ross occupied. He had an option to approach EMI now that Resurgam had fulfilled the original contract. Valley Of Bread did well. But the band had broken up and Ross was not confident enough to want to embark on a solo act. He needed people. He'd lived in resentment over that sometimes, but he did. He was adrift and needed structure. Ross made the rounds of the property with Jud each morning. No more, slovenly, up at the crack of whenever Ross felt like it anymore. They breakfasted together in the kitchen and then Ross drove Prudie to her shopping errands, raked leaves, cleaned gutters, collected windfall apples that were in good enough shape to eat and, under Prudie's direction, made sure they were stored in the apple cupboard correctly, to avoid wrinkles and mold. He skinned rabbits, he helped Jud burn the leaves and trimmings from the refuse-any job Jud set him to. Necessary things. The ordinary order of their firewood was sent in two lots this year. Jud had one split for use by the supplier and one as logs. He and Ross spent time each day stacking the cut wood to stay dry and orderly for the winter and, when that work was complete, Jud made Ross split logs from the other order with an ax. At first, Jud left four logs by the stump he used to split firewood. Ross, initially, felt insulted-four logs as if he was a wet behind the ears kid-until Ross realized he could barely manage three. He was entirely out of shape and his arms felt like aching rubber bands at the effort he had balked at for looking too easy. Jud made no comment, no admonishment, no judgement. As the weeks progressed, Ross added more logs to his pile himself. He took what he could manage and gained strength as he became used to the effort. His arms still ached but he could get through his pile with less strain and add a few more besides. Prudie, for her part, continued to leave him a mug of broth at dinner. It is to be questioned whether there was true health benefit to her regimen, but Ross felt stronger for it. She would mutter "Rinse 'im out an' build 'im up..." as she skimmed fat from the pot while she prepared it. It seemed like an incantation over a witch's brew. Whether it be beef or chicken it was always hot-but not enough to burn the tongue, richly flavored-but not greasy, a few dots of fat floated on the surface but it was quite well strained, the taste of a bare pinch of salt helped aid its savor and whet his appetite for the meal. They ate supper together in the kitchen as they had come to the habit after Joshua died. While Ned and Dwight stayed at Nampara they were served their meals in the dining room or the parlor as Ross had eaten with his parents. But, when guests were not present, Ross ate with the Paynters, as if he was once again a young child eating his breakfast or tea. Once Dem came to Nampara they ate in the kitchen by rote. The Paynters could not presume to eat with Ross and Dem at table-that would be improper-but Ross and Dem could deign to eat with them in the kitchen and not be problematic so long as there were no guests to see. Ross, in some ways had been demoted to servitude by the Paynters. He did their bidding and remained obedient. He was busy all waking hours and felt better for it. They were preparing for the colder, wetter weather. Ross marveled at how much Jud was able to do while he was prancing about on tour or working in London. Ross was cowed. The Paynters were getting old now. They had looked after him much the same way he'd stumbled upon Dem. Ross never hired the Paynters. He simply kept paying them after his father died and they stayed. They spent a good deal of their lives looking after Ross' family and it humbled him. He learned, alongside Jud, all the work that makes a home, a lesson he was ashamed to admit his ignorance of.  
On weekends, the Paynters ordinarily had their days off. They looked longingly to the weekend when Ross was using, feared it too. Feared that they would return on Monday to find him dead or arrested. But it was a relief to have that space apart. Now, knowing how devilish drink could be, they took him with them. Installed in the bedroom that he shared, two to a bed, with his late brother, Claude, that Dem had used when she'd spend weekends with the Paynters when Ross toured, used by his own son (the rubber sheet removed). He stayed over both days and they returned, en masse, on Monday to Nampara. Ross was grateful. To spend his hours alone and lonely was something the Paynters chose not to allow. They saw the strange contradiction in Ross, needing connection even as he sent every signal it was unwanted. They knew their gruffler and he was grateful for it. They would watch TV, the gentle, somewhat dull programs that filled the weekend schedule-sport, old films-Ross wondered if Dem still watched Top Of The Pops in London. She never missed it if she could help it...He read books, scribbled song lyrics in an exercise book sometimes. Sat in the parlor with old time music playing. Helped Prudie with every meal, the small chores one might press a child to perform-scrapping carrots clean, paring apples- Prudie retired to the parlor after dinner was tidied away. Before Jud and Ross joined her they would play cards at the kitchen table. They played, spoke of this and that. Jud had many tales, of old Cornwall, of the magical ways one could scry rain if the swallows were flying low in the sky, the old wisdom of folk who must trust the land for their living, not soft gentry like Ross... These card games had a double end, a second purpose. Jud was very suspicious of teetotalers. Ross was allowed a brandy each weekend night. One brandy. As the evening progressed, in their chat, in their cards, Jud taught Ross, by example, how to nurse a drink. Jud and Prudie had a bottle of sherry, a bottle of rum and a bottle of brandy in their home. They lived in the kitchen cupboard among tins of malted milk powder and other larder odds and ends. They were not the sort to have a nightcap at the end of each night. Drinking to end the night was a strange ritual of gentle folk that the Paynters thought decadent and bizarre. They considered what alcohol they had in their home as a kind of medicinal aid-to calm one's nerves after a shock, over and above, when a cup of tea was not enough. Jud enjoyed a pint of beer now and again. Prudie might taste sherry three times a year. But Jud felt being 'dry' was as much a moral failing as being the sloppy sort of drunks his parents had been. Jud preferred rum but he took a glass of brandy along with Ross, who's station in life meant drink, to some degree, would be a constant, and set about teaching Ross how to control himself. "Ee can drink, but hold yer drink." Jud said, sternly as he poured out two, one for him, one for Ross. Ross nodded. He understood Jud's admonishment. "Hold your drink." It was an older value, chauvinistic and, perhaps, erroneous compared to modern thought, really. But Jud was convinced it was fitty and Jud was all Ross had. You hold your drink like a man. Stay in control. Be fitty.  
Ross worked each day. It helped his appetite, it helped his sleep. He had not played electric or acoustic guitar for a long while. He resolved to resume once more. Dem's six and twelve string Gibsons seemed to stand in rebuke of him. She'd left them behind. The mother of pearl flowers on her twelve string silent markers that judged him, inhibited him. If Dem was not playing, did he have the right? He'd earn his way back to them too. 'When Dem comes home...' he thought.  
Before Prudie pressed Ross into service as a bobbin, they called Dem. Every Sunday since their showdown in Nampara's kitchen, Ross, Jud and Prudie spoke to Dem and Jeremy on the phone. They had their Sunday lunch, watched some pleasant nothingness on TV and then called London. This pleased the household in flat for they knew when they would communicate with Papa. They never faltered as Ross had earlier. Sunday without fail. The fences and fear between Ross and Dem were present but Ross spoke of his chores and would read Jeremy a Ladybird book over the phone, they being small and not too long. Dem spoke of her comings and goings. She'd mention a friend she'd made recently, Malcolm. Ross was ill at ease. He was a dogwalker, but he seemed to be around the flat more often then Garrick's care would warrant...They were not long conversations, storytelling aside. Ross missed her. Dem missed him. Neither dared to say so. Jud and Prudie kept Dem abreast of Nampara household concerns, asked after Jinny and always told Jeremy to be a good boy for his mother.  
Ross watched the yarn unwind, back and forth, from his hands as Prudie wound her yarn ball. He hadn't known how to make amends for cheating on Dem, he hadn't known how much his morbid fears over Jeremy's May birthday were inhibiting him with his son, he didn't know how to make himself forget the cold glass marble of Julia's brow, all the life gone out of her. He turned to addictions and shut it all out, shut himself away. Ross was not certain he'd ever learn how to cope with life. In the Paynter's parlor, he sat at the feet of his masters, they who tried to twist and mold him back into a useful specimen. Perhaps it was working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yakety Yak, The Coasters 1958


	15. Age Of Not Believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closer

I. Pisces Babies

Malcolm and Demelza were born a week apart. Red was born in March. Blue was born in February. Though they had birthdays in different months, this made them both Pisces. They did not remark upon this to each other, but they both were charmed to realize they were under the same astrological sign and amused that they 'popped out' near the same time. They both thought it augered well for their friendship. Blue had become a friend, fitting into Demelza's London life quite well. He walked Garrick without fail, he was courteous to Jinny and Demelza, a jolly companion to Jeremy on Saturday. He rejected the idea that he should be paid. Blue insisted it was simply doing a good turn and would not hear of it. They had reached a point where, when Jeremy was napping, Blue was able to offer Red a listening ear and Demelza was able to accept it without feeling too self conscious over it.

They sat with a film going, but Red was not attentive. In deference to her, as a married woman, though he had his arm around her, Blue would lean away to speak to her rather than incline his head closer to her. To look her full in the face and not be seen as trying to take liberties."I'd not go blabbin' if ee wanted to talk..." said Blue, quietly. Demelza looked towards him, a bit resistant. He stayed quiet, smiled gently. It was up to her and he would wait as she considered whether to confide in him. She was tempted. She had no one else. She would not speak freely about her troubles to Jinny, it wasn't proper. She was too mortified over everything to talk to Verity, something she had intended to do when she first arrived in London, and thought better of. Blue was a neutral party. That was a plus...She spoke of her troubles in the barest terms. Ross let her down with an unnamed other woman and she was unhappy that she'd hit him. Blue knit his brows. "Payin' your man back for messing don't sound evil, Red..." Demelza drooped her chin. "My Pa used to hit us, I don't want to be like him..." she said, glumly. Blue gave her a little squeeze with the arm he had around her. "You ain't! I ain't known you long, but I know you ain't! I've seen Jer 'ave a right ol' strop or two an' ee ain't never once raised a hand to 'im, never looked like it even crossed your mind!" Demelza smiled, wanly, grudgingly. Malcolm asked, quietly, "Your da was cruel to you?" She nodded and spoke haltingly. "He drank and he was mean when he took too much." An unbidden remembrance of watching specks of blood fall to the kitchen floor. She knew she was downplaying the extent of Pa's behavior. "My mum was always bruised or cut or something...you could see..." Red's lip began to tremble. "I didn't want Jeremy to see..." she sniffed. Malcolm withdrew his arm to pull a tissue from the box near the lamp and hand it to her. "Thank you." She blew her nose and they sat quiet for a time. He turned to face her rather than sit alongside. "Red?" She looked at him as he looked at her. He raised his eyebrows a little, earnest, wanting her to understand he wasn't just being nice. "You're a good mam, Red. A lovin' mam, you ain't like your da, honest!" She nodded and smiled, daubed her eyes once more. "Thank you, Blue. Would you like some tea?" He nodded. "Aye, thank you." She got up and Malcolm, who knew from a previous conversation that she had lost her mother young, stood to follow her to the kitchen. "Demelza?" She looked, bemused, over her shoulder at him. He called her 'Red' so often now her proper name seemed foreign as he spoke it. "Yes, Blue?" she smiled. He blinked, nodded a little, acknowledging without speaking that using her real name was a formality, but he hesitated to presume her nickname for what he was about to say. "Your da? Has 'e passed on?" She stopped smiling. She shook her head 'no' as she turned to face him at the entrance to the kitchen. In a gentle voice he said, "Well, you just say the word, lass, an' I'll lam 'im for you." Her eyes widened and she chuckled a little. "Blue..." He could hear she thought it humorous. He didn't mean it as a joke. "I mean it, Red. I don't hold wi' beatin' on bairns an' hurtin' women. He didn't have no right to hurt you or your mam. If you want for me to fix 'im, I'll do it, ee just say the word, love." She crinkled her eyes a little, he was serious and it touched her heart even as she would never ask for such a thing. She smiled and he reciprocated. He said his piece and she heard him. "Thank you, Blue." said Red. "Aye, love." said Blue. They never discussed her father again.

II. Opening Theme to Top of the Pops

She made a pot of tea and, having poured Blue a cup, went to wake Jeremy. Jinny returned and they had tea and biscuits, with milk for Jeremy. Blue kept Jeremy occupied by helping him with a page of his coloring book while Demelza and Jinny lingered over their cups. After a pleasant time sitting in the kitchen and chatting about this and that as Garrick napped and Jeremy played with some plastic blocks, they had fish and chips. Red insisted that Blue not pay any more. He was a guest, as well as refusing payment for walking Garrick three times a week and looking after Jeremy on Saturdays. Dem felt that feeding him was the least she could do. They had a happy dinner with cheerful talk and lashings of black currant squash to wash it down. Jeremy and Blue played with cars on the floor in front of the TV as Jinny and Red sat on the sofa and they all watched Top of the Pops. Garrick sat between Jinny and Demelza and enjoyed being fussed over as they enjoyed a fun mixture of songs. A band called Hello played a stonking good tune called 'Back In A New York Groove" and they all had a laugh when the Scots Blackwatch brass band had a proper hit playing a Neil Diamond song. Malcolm was proud to see his countrymen on the chart in such an eccentric way. Once it ended, Blue bid them goodbye and headed home. He turned for a final wave at them as they wished him goodnight from the front door and loped away, up the pavement.

Later, when they all turned in for the night, Demelza curled around Jeremy and thought about her day. She considered the fact that she had never discussed her childhood abuse with anyone, not even Ross. Ross had seen Pa's handiwork himself and other than answering his shocked question of who had done such a thing to her, they did not speak of it. Verity and the Paynters knew because Ross had told them and Prudie had cause to see Dem's back herself, but she never discussed it with them either. Demelza, gently turned to lay on her back without disturbing Jeremy. She blinked up into the darkness of the room. She and Ross were excellent musicians, in part because they had few people to distract them in their life together, as she grew up. When Dwight and Ned lived at the gatehouse they all played music and joked and talked. They enjoyed their company but, as much as she loved them, she never turned to them as confidants. When they left, there was nothing but time. Demelza got invited to parties and sometimes had local girls from Sawle and schoolmates visit her at the Paynter's house. She never had the sort of close friend you could tell personal things to...secret things...Blue offered to give Pa a taste of his own medicine without knowing the true extent of his abuse of her. It had surprised her but it also made her happy. He cared that she did not think she was like Pa, he cared that she know that her mistreatment and that of her mother wasn't right. He called her 'Demelza' in his seriousness over offering to settle a score for her. It was a new sensation...she had a friend...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age Of Not Believing, As sung by Angela Lansbury, Walt Disney Music Co., 1971
> 
> When you rush around in hopeless circles  
> Searching everywhere for something true  
> You're at the age of not believing  
> When all the make-believe is through  
> When you set aside your childhood heroes  
> And your dreams are lost up on a shelf  
> You're at the age of not believing  
> And worst of all you doubt yourself  
> You're a castaway where no one hears you  
> On a barren isle in a lonely sea  
> Where did all the happy endings go?  
> Where can all the good times be?  
> You must face the age of not believing  
> Doubting everything you ever knew  
> Until at last you start believing  
> There's something wonderful  
> In you
> 
> Pisces Babies, Fox 1975
> 
> The Opening Theme for Top of the Pops  
> The theme and the chart countdown was an instrumental version of Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love". This was the case from 1970 to 1977, it remained the countdown music until it was retired in 1983.
> 
> October 9, 1975 Top of the Pops featured Hello playing 'Back In A New York Groove' and The Band of the Blackwatch playing 'Scotch On The Rocks' along with Bob Marley's 'No woman, No Cry' and David Essex's 'Hold Me Close' among other hits of the day. That there was a real transmission with that many 'Red and Blue' signifiers in the time frame I was writing about made me laugh for about twenty minutes. Somebody up there likes me...
> 
> strop: tantrum
> 
> I'll lam 'im/ fix 'im: beat him up
> 
> stonking: really, really good, excellent


	16. Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumination

Jeremy crawled over to the window by the bed. Mam was still asleep. Or Mama... maybe she was Mama in Nam Par Par and Mam in London...The October mornings were quite frigid, but the sun would rise and make the weather nice. There was a patch of frost on the corners of the windowpanes. By moving the curtains out of the way, Jeremy could watch the sun color the frost as it rose. Strange shards and knives of light that would sparkle as the hard patterns started to melt. Jeremy could not articulate it, but watching the frost, seeing faces and sunbursts, stars and sharp, sparkling angles pleased him. He enjoyed London. Jinny took him all about. To the park, to see puppets, storytime in one of the bookstores, museums...Boo was a fun playmate and looked after Garrick. He took them to the zoo and they all had ice lollies...he brought a toy car as a present each Saturday. Mama snuggled next to Jeremy each night as he slept. He liked that very much. Most mornings it was Jinny who woke him and started the day. This was never the case on Saturday. Today was Saturday. He would wake with Mam and walk with her and Boo and Garrick and explore all around. When Jinny came home they would have fish and chips and watch Top of the Pops and Boo would read stories and play cars and help him color in his coloring books. Jeremy favored Saturdays but Sundays were best because Papa would read him a story over the phone. Jeremy had not the best grasp of speech for himself. People understood him well enough, day to day. At some point he'd have to get to grips and learn more words to use. He could not summon the words to find out what he had done wrong. Jeremy wanted to know what he'd done to make Papa send them away. Mam was sad. It can't have been her, for she's very clever, so it had to be him, he supposed.

The sky had lightened. When he touched the window he could feel how cold and slick the frost on the window was. It would melt a little where he touched it. Blue and orange, grey and white, strange bursts of ice that could be stars or flowers started to disappear as the day came. The view beyond was the backs of houses, much like theirs. Not the stretch of trees and grass that one saw at, well, the other home...It's nice to have two...Perhaps London is Mam's home and Nam Par Par was Papa's. That made sense...He would listen more carefully. The grownups often whispered things. He'd never learn the words he needed if they kept talking so quiet...Everything was too quiet in London. There was traffic and milk bottles clinking against each other on the milk float in the morning, people talking, something always happening but the nights were too quiet. Jeremy hadn't heard a guitar in an age...You don't realize you miss music until there is no music. Mama didn't sing anymore. Is that because she's Mam now? Perhaps...She did not play guitar anymore either. Maybe that's a rule. Maybe what ever he'd done made music a forfeit...He'd often hear guitar as he fell asleep at Nam Par Par but it was silent at night here. Sometimes stray cats would fight in the back garden at night, but that's not music...

He sat back down. He sat on his knees and looked at Mama. She had a pretty face. If you were as close as Jeremy often was you could see that her eyes kept leaking. It was strange. It was not proper crying. When Jeremy cried he was frustrated, or angry, or hungry and he would cry properly. Mama knew how to cry properly-he had seen it. When her eyes leaked, her talking didn't change, she didn't go 'boohoo' like crying people should. Her eyes just leaked sometimes, like a tap not turned off right. She'd dry them like nothing was wrong, on her sleeve or with a tissue, but it was very strange. Jeremy resolved to learn more words. If he could find out what he did wrong, Mama would have dry eyes like everyone else and they could live with Papa. He lay back down. He closed his eyes though he was no longer sleepy. He was awake now but he closed his eyes. There was an extra look to Mam in the mornings he sought to avoid. If his eyes were open first and she saw it, she would look at him and it made him nervous. He felt a frightening sense of her eyes vacuuming something out of his own. Maybe she didn't know what he had done wrong either and was trying to find it in him. At those times Jeremy felt afraid. If Mama did not have the answers, how could they get back home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kid, The Pretenders 1979
> 
> Kid what changed your mood  
> You've gone all sad so I feel sad too  
> I think I know some things we never outgrow  
> You think it's wrong  
> I can tell you do  
> How can I explain  
> When you don't want me to  
> Kid my only kid  
> You look so small you've gone so quiet  
> I know you know what I'm about  
> I won't deny it  
> But you forgive though you don't understand  
> You've turned your head  
> You've dropped my hand  
> All my sorrow, all my blues  
> All my sorrow  
> Shut the light, go away  
> Full of grace, you cover your face  
> Kid gracious kid  
> Your eyes are blue but you won't cry  
> I know angry tears are too dear  
> You won't let them go


	17. Baby Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies

"Dem." She could hear optimism in Ross' voice.

"Yes, Ross." He could hear resignation in Dem's voice.

Ross sat in the empty kitchen, the Paynters had gone home. He looked at his wedding ring as he held the phone receiver with his right hand. Forsake all others...

"I'm better now." said Ross. Dem closed her eyes and exhaled.

"In what way better?" she asked in a placid, calm voice that gave no betrayal of how fast her heart had started beating. She was seated but her body had girded itself for flight, to bolt, to run away. Dem wanted to trust and was frightened to trust simultaneously. Ross sought to explain.

"I've kicked and I'm not drinking." he said. Dem opened her eyes.

"Kicked what?" she asked, sternly.

"Dem..." Ross began. But that was the rub, wasn't it? Dem knew that Ross wanted to skirt the issue. Dem had no reason to indulge him. There was a brief pause. Ross took a deep breath-she could hear it. He bowed his head, for he did feel shame.

"I was using heroin and now I have stopped." Another pause. "I was drinking too much and now I have stopped." Dem smeared tears across her eyes by grinding a palm against them. He could hear her sniffing them back.

"What do you want, Ross?" she asked quietly.

"Want?! I want you and Jeremy to come home!" Ross said.

"Why?" her voice turned quite small.

"I want you to come back..." said Ross. There was uncertainty in his voice. He was becoming aware that he was making errors in this conversation but could not work out what they were. Dem wanted something else but he did not know what it needed to be. The silence went for some minutes.

"Dem?"

"I'm still here..."

"Dem?" Ross felt his stomach tense. He was becoming nervous.

"I'm better now." said Ross, " You and Jeremy can come back. I want you to come home..."

"Did you go back to Elizabeth again?" she asked.

"NO!" Ross sounded offended. Dem held her head with her free hand and closed her eyes.

"I can't have this conversation right now...Good night, Ross."

"Dem!"

She hung up.

The next morning, Ross toyed with the egg on the plate in front of him. Prudie turned from the stove and saw he had not eaten much of it. "Didn't ee call Dem?" she asked. Ross did not look up. "Yes." Prudie looked befuddled. "Ain't she comin' 'ome?" Ross averted his eyes. "She didn't want to talk." Prudie frowned. "Don't be tellin' me she 'didna wanna talk'! Ee told 'er ee stopped foolin' wi' them drugs?!" Ross glowered. He owed the Paynters, dearly, but they did treat him like he was five. Prudie seemed to read the thought upon his face. "Ee got a bloody nerve, tryin' t'act offended! If ee be actin' like a no account wastrel, I ain't gonna treat ee like you ain't!" They looked at each other. Ross knew she was correct but it still rankled him. "What did ee say to Dem!" barked Prudie. Ross averted his eyes and then looked back to her. "I told her that I stopped using and stopped drinking and asked her to come back." Prudie crossed her arms. "An'?" Ross frowned. "And...?" He tossed the fork aside on the table. He had no appetite, he had no peace of mind. He'd made a disaster of his life and seemed annoyed that he couldn't just stare at the broken pieces and will them back together with his mind. He looked to Prudie. Having survived two destructive brushes with heroin and a bout of alcoholism, it seemed faintly absurd that he'd end his life here, but it was plain on Prudie's face that he might not leave this kitchen alive. He could see she was livid. Prudie considered telling Ross off, but that would just get his back up in the mood they were both in. Prudie chose honey over vinegar.

"Ee needs a hug."

"What?!" Ross looked startled. He was prepared to face the tongue lashing to end all Paynter tongue lashings. If Prudie had started speaking in Latin, Ross would have been less surprised. Prudie was pragmatic. If Ross was acting like a child, there was more than one way to treat him as such.

"Ee do need a hug. You ain't 'ad one for months."

Ross looked at her. There was no way to read his face for it went through a dozen emotions at once. He blinked. Blinked himself out of his confusion. He had not held Dem or Jeremy for nearly five months. He had chased his family away for nearly half a year. "Prudie?" he asked quietly. "Aye?" He looked befuddled. "When did we last hug?" Prudie frowned, thought about it. "Not since Master Joshua died, I reckon. When ee came 'ome." Ross sat back in his chair. That was correct. Prudie looked at him fondly when he wed, looked at him sadly when Julia died, fondly once more when Jeremy was born. Ross' freedom to cuddle Prudie with impunity ended somewhere around eleven or twelve years of age. Ross was the master's son, after all, and she a servant... Prudie relaxed her arms. Gave a half smile. She had not entirely relinquished her ire, and would revisit it, but a subtle summons was put forth. Ross closed his eyes as he fought a smile. He had it in him to resist the smile. The smile won. Ross stood and crossed the room, to stand by her and she gently gave him a warm embrace. Ross lay his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes. She held him and Ross was grateful. He marveled at Prudie's ability to nourish. Not simply feeding one food. Prudie had the ability to let one know she cared. She could yell, scold, speak plain. She could laugh, and tease and suspend speech in such a way that you knew you had her admiration. It nourished as much as a meal would. It gave you the sense that she cared. Cared for your happiness, cared that you would correct yourself, cared that you would find your way. Prudie cared and Ross felt her love for him, wrapped gently around him in the heart of his home. She smelled of Pears soap and biscuits and of Nampara, really. All that was good and warm and safe about home...Prudie stroked his back gently. 'I never did ought but spoil 'im' she thought. Ross was not her child. That she often got to treat him as such was a matter of circumstance. Too much loss in his life...She lay her head under his chin. A subtle shift as the hug continued. She could feel his heartbeat. She could feel he'd lost weight '...but he was eating more now...he'd make un up...' she thought. "Don't matter what I d'feed ee, you always was a beanpole..." murmured Prudie. Ross clung a little more. He understood her comment as the beginning of the end of the embrace and, greedily, signaled his wish to remain. Prudie sighed. "Ee be right spoilt..." She hugged him tighter. He nodded. "Ee got too thin, lad..." she said quietly. There was reproach in the comment. Ross heard it and understood she was not complaining about his loss of weight. She had said, 'I was frightened for you, you scared me...' Ross gave her one last affectionate squeeze as he said, "You're always perfect."

Prudie held her tongue for three hours. Ross marveled at this feat. The hammer did not fall until he drove her to the supermarket. He waited in the car while she shopped. Ross watched the other shoppers coming and going. Pulling along errant children or cuddling small babies as they were settled into their prams. Dem looked after Jeremy in their London flat. She kept going for five months. Waiting for him to stop wasting their life. Wasting their time...Women were stronger than men because they had to be. That thought humbled him. Ross had forced her into this situation and, like any other time, Dem persevered. She'd not leap for joy that he'd finally gotten to grips with things. It was another barrier he'd thrown in her way. Another trouble he'd given her...The passenger door opened. Prudie had finished her shop. "Ee wants pie tonight?" asked Prudie as she set the bags in the backseat. "Yes, please." said Ross, glumly. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Prudie sighed as she settled herself in the passenger seat next to him and closed the car door. "Ee needs to beg 'er pardon. Ee can crow all ee want about cleanin' yerself up but it was the messin' that hurt 'er most." Ross sat up and looked at his hands on the steering wheel. "She belted ee. That be a mortal shame..." Ross frowned. "What?" As far as he could see, he had deserved it. Deserved that and more. "Dem ain't got a wicked bone in 'er body! 'Er fathur beat the poor maid to ribbons but she ain't 'orrible like tha!" Ross still did not understand. Prudie regained the white hot anger of the morning. "Ee look 'ere!" Ross looked her in the face as he countered, "I deserved it, Prudie!" The confusion on his face was evident as he said this. Prudie said, tersely, "Dem be gentle! Think how bad she be hurt for 'er t'belt you one! Ee run off, carryin' on wi'tha fudgy faced baggage o'er Trenwith way an' then pat yerself on the 'ead 'Oh I be off the drugs, I be off the liquor!'" Ross set himself back from Prudie in the confines of the car. She made herself red in the face. She was that angry. "Why don't ee use the sense God gave ee an' tell 'er yer sorry for lettin' 'er down!"

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Ross closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. Prudie looked out of her passenger window and gave looks so dark she might have incinerated the supermarket with her eyes alone. She turned, sharply and set her dark look upon Ross. "I NEVER thought I would see the day when ee would act like yer fathur!" And Prudie crossed her arms as she turned to glower through the front windshield. Ross bowed his head. Prudie's love cut both ways. They drove back to Nampara.

He followed her in, carrying her shopping. Their shopping. Prudie spent the better part of her life organizing Nampara's kitchen, cooking, feeding, instructing Dem, training her up to be as strong a cook as she was. She cared for every child on Nampara's hearth, be they alive like Ross, Dem and Jeremy, or gone like Claude and Julia. Ross was struck, again, at how much the Paynters had given him. He obediently placed the various groceries where they belonged. A box of mixed peel, a box of currants for their tea bread. Meat, eggs, frozen peas, various vegetables. Chocolate digestives...he put them on the pantry shelf. There was a surplus of biscuit packets. It was his fault...Ross came out of the larder and sat at the table. Prudie had her apron on and was setting out the things she needed to make pastry for supper. "Prudie?" She turned to face him. "Aye?" Ross stood. Prudie froze, holding a wooden rolling pin in both hands. Her lips parted a fraction. It was 1975 but she might have been a figure in a Dutch genre painting. "I'm sorry for dragging you into my mess and making you worry." Ross wanted to look away. They had not discussed much of what had gone on, she had seen him injecting as well as tending him in all states. He had it in him to avert his eyes but he looked her in the eye, gave her that respect. He was contrite. "I am truly sorry, Prudie." Prudie's mouth had pressed itself into a thin line. She nodded. "Aye." she said.

Ross went out to split logs. When he had finished he put the ax in the shed and sat on the ground, next to the wood pile. He wore an old U.S. Navy peacoat and a dark blue knit hat. He wore very old black jeans with a tatty hole, straggling threads across one knee and his older boots. They gave a little more room from being worn frequently than his newer pair. His feet still ached. He lit a cigarette. Ross had no true intention of taking up smoking but it was something to do. He chaffed at not having the escape of a drink or five. He chaffed at having to face his responsibilities. Prudie was correct. Ross was trying to avoid the question of Elizabeth. He'd told Dem he had stopped using as if that was the only problem between them. He scrunched the toes of one foot in his boot and felt little relief. It was overcast today, getting dark early. He'd go inside soon. He took another drag on the cigarette. He'd stomped out of Nampara without a backwards glance...Ross sighed. How does one clean the Augean Stables...? The mess he had made of everything. Why should Dem even want him anymore. They'd been apart for months. Without smack to curl into, without the deadening comfort to be found in a bottle, Ross had to face his perfidy. He had to face it or he'd never get Dem to return. Ross wanted her home. He had no expectation she would welcome him back with open arms...her arms...They woke in the morning, happy, nude, in the grass, and Ross had woken up in Dem's arms...Ross closed his eyes. Once upon a time he had been a good man...They had so much happiness...Why had he thrown it all away? He blew out a stream of smoke. He missed her. Ross had the strange insistence that he be given second chances without considering the fact that 'chances' should not be pluralized. He would not waste a second chance, if she let him have one. He'd tell Dem that what she had was all-he knew this to be true-all of his heart, he'd pledge all of his love to Dem, if she came back. He had gone to Elizabeth and in the final analysis, it didn't mean anything. It didn't touch his heart the way being with Dem did. He'd be a liar if he said he didn't enjoy sleeping with Elizabeth but it did not touch his heart. It was a greedy impulse, an itch he'd scratched, a guilt gift too, if he was honest...had he raped Liza? He curled his toes again, an impulse to punish himself-it hurt-could that have been explained away as passion...? He took another drag of the cigarette. He didn't dream of Elizabeth the way he daydreamed of Dem. He didn't seek to revisit it. It was done. He didn't close his eyes and try to remember pleasure with Elizabeth the way he often thought of Dem, dreamt of Dem, remembered the pleasure of Dem's love...wanted it back...He wished to return to her, her flawed spouse. Could she spare forgiveness to a husband as lousy as he had become? He'd fucked and used and drank himself away from his wife and child. Trapped himself in a Gordian knot of guilt in which the original sin became twisted and tangled within his need to hide from it all. Hide from his culpability. He sighed, the cigarette loose between his fingers as it burned by his knee. 'Why should Dem even give me the time of day?' he thought, glumly.

Jud came upon Ross, sitting on the ground, next to the wood pile, smoking a cigarette. Jud gave a snort of a laugh. "Prudie'll skin ee if'n she sees tha!" Ross ducked his chin and smiled. Ross considered what Jud had said. Prudie had no qualms telling Ross off about drink and cigarettes. Ross had traumatized the Paynters into silence over his heroin use. She did not tell him off over smack. She knew he would not listen...Ross offered the pack toward Jud with an outstretched arm. Jud accepted. He took a cigarette, sat on the stump next to Ross and used his own matches.

"I apologized to Prudie." said Ross quietly, looking forward, into the distance.

"Aye, she d'say..." Jud took a drag. They stayed quiet for a time. Ross took another drag on the cigarette. After exhaling he turned to look up at Jud, set above him on the stump.

"I'm sorry, Jud. For everything..."

He watched Jud consider this. Jud looked at Ross in a stern manner and Ross bore it, waited. Jud took a drag of his cigarette and blew a series of smoke rings. For as long as Ross had known Jud he always stared at this feat. Jud watched Ross look on, like an enchanted child. Jud sighed. Jud needed that. The glimpse of the younger Ross inside the man. Ross had pushed him to his limit this time. Jud's ability to provide his forgiveness was strengthened by the reminder. Ross be a man, and a right troublesome one. But he be a gruffler too...our gruffler...

"Aye." said Jud.

"Jud?" asked Ross. Jud stood and ground out the cigarette, under foot. "Aye?" Ross searched Jud's face with his eyes. "Would you really have left?" asked Ross. Was it to scare him, or would he have really lost them? "Aye. Tha I would do." said Jud, looking down at Ross. "I seen ee since ee be a tacker. I ain't got the stomach to watch ee wreckin' yerself." Ross bowed his head. Of course, why should he think different? Jud was a plain dealer, he'd not bluff. Ross was that spoiled, Ross could see it now. He'd dragged them through hell and still expected they would remain, the entitled delusions of a spoiled creature...Jud did manage a smile, though.

"You's been hard work from long time back..." There was warmth as well as annoyance in the comment.

"I know," whispered Ross, "I'm sorry." Jud looked at Ross. Ross looked at him. One last clearing of the air.

"Ee callin' Dem?"

"Tonight." said Ross.

"Prudie d'say she learned ee?"

"Yes." said Ross. Jud offered his hand and helped Ross off of the ground. Ross stamped out the cigarette butt. Though Ross was taller than Jud, his deference to the older man was obvious. "I's not gonna cross Prudie. Ee mind 'er an' do as she say." said Jud. "I will." said Ross. Jud gave a wry smile. "An' no smokin' neither. Or, leastways, get a proper pipe 'stead o' them daft ciggies." Ross ducked his head and smiled. Should tobacco be necessary, pipes were fitty. "Yes, Jud." said Ross.

They ate dinner and there was a bit of Bakewell tart left afterwards. They spoke of ordinary things. They each said their piece. Ross apologized and the Paynters accepted. The Paynters counseled him and he would obey. Ross and Prudie cleared the table as Jud resumed reading his newspaper. Life would conform to its earlier pattern. Ross, Dem and Jeremy would eat supper at table. Jeremy would have his breakfast and snacks in the kitchen. Ross and Dem would take tea with the Paynters in the kitchen, a habit they still enjoyed. Ross would no longer be pressed into service by the Paynters to the same degree as his rehabilitation demanded. Having twisted him back into form, Ross would be Master of Nampara once more. Tonight, he helped Prudie by wiping the dishes dry. He listened to Jud and discarded what cigarettes were left in the pack. He would obey and call Dem after they went home. His first responsibility as master of the house was to restore his wife and child to their home.

"Hello?"

"Dem..." Ross heard Demelza sigh in a tired sounding way.

"Hello, Ross." A pause.

"Dem, I'm sorry," He heard an intake of breath. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I..." he took a deep breath. " I broke my promise to you. I broke my vow, Dem, and I'm sorry." She whimpered a little. Ross tried to calm himself. He did not want to cry. He wanted to be strong and tell Dem he was sorry 'properly'. Very slowly, deliberately, he said, "I went to Elizabeth and broke the vow I made to you when I married you. I went back to using. I took to drink and left you to fend for yourself with Jeremy. And...I..." he could hear Demelza crying, softly. "I made you angry enough for you to want to hit me. I deserved it, Dem. I deserved it but you didn't deserve to be put into that position...Oh! No,no,no, oh Dem!" She was crying in earnest. "I'm sorry, Ross! I'm sorry!" The words seemed ripped from the core of her heart. Ross closed his eyes and thought, 'I only ever make things worse...I'm cursed...' "Dem, please, my love...It's MY fault, Dem! I'm to blame! I want to make it up to you, b-but... I d-don't..." Ross sniffed, wetly,"... know how!" Ross ground the heel of his hand over each eye. He was crying. "Dem, I love you, and I love Jeremy...I w-want to make it up to both of you. I want to be a family, Dem...I need you both!" Dem sniffled but did not speak. Ross took a deep breath once more. "I'm sorry, Dem. I am sorry and..." his voice fell to a fervent whispered plea, "I miss you, baby..."

"Ross!" wept Dem.

Five months worth of tears fell forward from both of them. Demelza cried enough for Ross to hear it over the phone as his tears fell, silently, in an endless stream down his face. Ross collected himself first. He waited. He would not ask Dem to stop crying. He felt he hadn't the right. She calmed herself. Ross spoke once more. "I miss you, Dem. Come back. Come home. I swear I'll try to make things better! Please!"

So it was agreed. Demelza would shut up the London house and she and Jeremy would return to Nampara. She demanded that they continue to sleep apart. He agreed. She demanded Ross' promise that he give Jeremy more attention he who, in truth, did not have the benefit of the lavish care and attention his late sister enjoyed. He agreed. She asked that Jud come to collect them, to bring them back to Nampara. He agreed. She wished Ross good night and he dared,

"Good night, my love." said Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Come Back, Player 1977
> 
> How does one clean the Augean Stables: One of the twelve labors of Hercules, he had to clean stables, in which King Augeas kept 3000 oxen, and which had not been cleaned for 30 years in one day. The cleaning of these stables was accomplished by diverting the river Alpheus through them.


	18. Tell Me Your Plans(Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missed call  
> New solutions  
> Tea and sympathy

Hello, Jinny. Can I speak to Dem?" asked Ross.

"She's out just now. I don't know when she'll be back..." said Jinny as she picked some of Jeremy's toys from the floor.

"Could you tell her I called?" The disappointment in Ross' voice was plain.

"Ais, I'll tell her."

"Thank you, Jinny, goodbye." Ross hung up.

Malcolm wanted to cheer Red up. She was very sad. Rather than take her to a film, it seemed a better idea to find her a guitar and coax her into playing. He knew there were always stray instruments knocking about in the rehearsal center where he'd been keeping his drums. After needling her on the phone for a couple of days she relented. "Come on, Red! It'll be a laugh!" said Blue.

They entered the building. Someone was playing jazz saxophone somewhere. One could also hear ragtime piano echoing faintly, muffled but still audible. The place was a bit run down, a little dingy, but kept clean. Malcolm nodded to this person and that person as they made their way to the third floor. Demelza noticed that Blue seemed to get on with everyone he met. They arrived at his door. He kept a second padlock of his own on the door. "It's alright here, but I ain't takin' chances. Nobody's makin' off with my kit!" He opened the door and turned on the light that frizzled and went on and off before it lit properly. There wasn't much to it. A drab, beige room with his drums set up with an electric guitar, white and battered looking, in front of a small amplifier, both of dubious make. A tatty place that seemed to be soundproofed with every discarded carpet in London and a small window at the back, propped open with an empty glass Lucozade bottle on its side. The carpet was a tired looking olive green and had little humps and whorls pattered in it like a lumpy typographical map. There was the faint sound of someone else playing electric guitar down the hall. "'Ere, you can use that..." said Blue as he walked to his stool and sat down. He leaned over to retrieve a pair of sticks from a bunch in a Horlick's tin on the floor. He sat to face her and smiled. She smiled back. In her haste to leave Nampara, she left her guitars behind. As homely as this guitar was it cheered her to be able to play it, as Blue had hoped it would. She strapped it on and started tuning it. "Oh! It's not too bad!" she was surprised. Malcolm smiled, sheepishly. "I fiddled with it yesterday so it would be decent for ya..." She was charmed. It was as if he was shy of admitting to his drums that he had dealt with another instrument. She stood up straight after plugging into the amp and strummed, briefly. She grinned. She was back in business..."What shall we play?" asked Red. Blue had a think. "D'ya know 'White Room'?" he asked. She pushed a stray curl of hair out of her eyes. "Of course!" They felt their smiles widen, they were eager to see what the other could do. "Right then..." said Blue. He clicked his sticks four times and they began. At first, they were like kids in a dressing up box. Blue was Ginger Baker and Red was Eric Clapton. They played the song as they knew it to be. Subtly though, the 'blat blat' mimicry of Blue's Ginger and the paint by numbers of Red's Clapton started to shift. They started bringing their own personality to it. While it was still recognizably 'White Room' they started to expand. They spared with each other, they challenged each other as they started to see that the talent of the other was formidable. Their interplay deepened. They were giving as good as they got. As they got to the end, Blue gave a sharp nod of his head. Red read this as a suggestion not to stop. Red soloed a second time and then they finished. At first they didn't say a word. They were catching their breath and looking at each other with new admiration. There was shyness in it too. It felt something close to being lovers for the first time and hoping the other person liked it as much as you did. 'Wow!' thought Red, 'He's amazing!' Blue thought, 'Christ! She plays like a bloke! An ace!' Blue tossed his sticks over his shoulders, letting them fall to the floor as he laughed a laugh of joy and astonishment. "Christ, Red! You're THAT GOOD!" Blue sat back on the stool, looking at her fondly. 'Jesus Fucking Christ, if we had a bass player...' he thought. "That was fun!" crowed Red. "Too right it was!" Blue grinned. They played some more and Red started to smile the sort of smile a man might crawl over burning sand to see. Malcolm knew she was off limits and accepted that fact but, dear God, she was beautiful...

After that, Blue walked Garrick, brought him back to the flat and, after tea with Jinny, he and Red went to the rehearsal center and jammed together on Mondays and Wednesdays. Blue continued to bring Jeremy a toy car each Saturday and he formed a handsome collection of them by the time they returned to Cornwall. They all shared the small, domestic, joys of life at Red's house. Red and Blue had a deepening appreciation of each other's musicianship. Blue was happy to see Red's mood improve. Blue knew, as October turned to November, that Red's mood was not improved by his effort alone. Ross seemed to be getting better, though Malcolm was still careful not to pry. 

Guy Fawkes fell on a Wednesday so, after they played at the rehearsal room, Blue came back to the flat and they all had fish and chips before going to Bonfire Night. Demelza, Jinny, Jeremy and Malcolm stood in the crowd, watching the bonfire reach dangerous looking heights and the fireworks sparkling in the sky. Blue put Jeremy on his shoulders so he could see better and they all enjoyed the spectacle of it, occasionally admiring each other as the lights and colors painted over them all. They walked back to the flat. Jeremy was asleep in his pushchair, tired out from all the excitement. Demelza and Jinny reminisced over Bonfire Nights in Sawle as they walked up the pavement with Blue pushing Jeremy's stroller between them. When they got to the flat, Malcolm carried him into the house as Jinny collapsed the pushchair and set it in its place in the hall. Blue stopped in the hall, not certain if he should continue. "Bring him upstairs, Blue. I think he's out for the night." said Red, cheerfully. He helped put Jeremy to bed and they leaned on either side of the doorway, admiring him as he slept. It had been a fun evening and they were now good friends. They enjoyed jamming together and each other's company. They looked at each other, fondly. If life was like a movie, they might have paused at the door, looked at each other searchingly and kissed. But life, of course, is not like the films. Red loved Ross and Blue knew his place. They looked at Jeremy again and blinked a sort of agreement to each other that Jeremy was a fine lad, without speaking, and then went back down stairs. They said goodnight to Jinny, passing her as she made her way upstairs. They sat on the sofa in the lounge. Without hesitation, Demelza lay her head on Malcolm's shoulder and he put his arm around her. They were content to sit this way and felt no sense of impropriety about it. "We'll be going back to Cornwall!" said Red with a contented smile. "Oh! Red, that's great! I'm glad for you!" Malcolm knew she would only go back if her husband had sorted himself out. "You should come visit us, Blue." Blue grinned. "Really? I ain't never been out your way..." Yes, I'd love for you to see Nampara. Jeremy would like it too, I'm sure!" Malcolm thought for a moment. He would be going back to Scotland in December. It would be months before he got back to London. "Would it be too much trouble to come by next week? I'll be goin' 'ome for Christmas. I'll not be back for a fair while..." Demelza smiled, looked to Blue with a happy smile. Ross was better now-Jud and Prudie said so too, not just Ross-but there was still a lot of angst over Elizabeth. A visit would be something to look forward to. A visit from a friend..."I think that would be lovely!" said Red.

Ross was amused by Dem's marathon of cooking and baking. The aromas coming from the kitchen smelled heavenly. All this for her friend, Malcolm who'd not been to Cornwall before. He was being feted like royalty come to call. He came, loping towards the house, with a gangly walk. Garrick began to bark and Ross could hear Malcolm slap his thigh with a cheery, "Garrick! 'Ere boy!" as Ross opened the front door. Ross leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching Malcolm make a fuss over the dog. Garrick leaped about, excitedly, around Malcolm as if he was greeting a long lost brother-even bringing a stick over to compel Malcolm to play fetch. Dem joined Ross at the door with Jeremy on her hip. Jeremy laughed to watch the drummer raising the stick high over head and Garrick's delighted leaping before Malcolm flung it away for the dog to chase. "Boo play wit Ga-ick!" crowed Jeremy. Ross turned his head to stare at Jeremy. Both Jeremy and Dem looked on with a fondness that puzzled him. 'Well,' Ross thought, 'He was looking after Garrick, they would be happy to see the dog enjoying himself...' Demelza cooed to Jeremy, not realizing Ross was watching them both, "Yes, darling! Blue's come to visit us. Isn't that lovely?"

Malcolm bent down, giving Garrick the hearty wacks on the flank the dog favored and looked up from the dog across the yard. "'Ere, Jer! Don't tell me you grew an' all in a week! 'Ave ee got taller?" Jeremy giggled. Mama's assistance was helping his height. Ross watched the happy smiles that bounced between the three of them. They were clearly fond of their visitor. Malcolm crossed the yard, wiping his hands on his jeans as he called out, "Red!" She smiled wider. "Blue! Welcome to Nampara!" Ross stood up straight and uncrossed his arms. He shook Malcolm's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ross!" Ross' eyebrow raised. He was not entirely sure how to address him. "Hello, Blue...?" said Ross. Blue saw that Ross seemed disapproving-though whether it was the nickname or himself he was not sure. Ross was posh, maybe he didn't use nicknames..."Heh," Blue gave a self deprecating sort of chuckle."Ee can call me Malcolm." he said. He had warm, merry eyes and a firm handshake. He had Garrick in the palm of his hand. He had Jeremy's friendship and a pet name seemingly only Dem could use. Ross, outwardly, feigned the the same easy camaraderie Malcolm showed. Inwardly, Ross was ill at ease. How long had this guy been sniffing around Dem in London for him to be such a jolly friend now?

"Aw, Red! that was delicious! An' 'ere's me in London tryin' t'impress you with a meal from the chippie!" Dem laughed. Ross stayed behind as she and Malcolm walked toward the Long Field, chatting until Ross could no longer hear them. It was a mild November. The air was fresh and clean. For all one needed a coat it was a soft chill rather than a frigid one. Garrick ran ahead of them and Malcolm spun Jeremy around in a gentle circle before putting him back on the ground to let him run to catch up with Garrick. Ross knit his brows. Even though they were far off the body language between them was clear. Jeremy clung to Malcolm's neck and laughed over his shoulder. Malcolm gave him a squeeze of a hug before letting the child down and put his hand on Jeremy's head, careful not to knock off his little cap as well as making sure he wasn't too dizzy from the spin. It was charming to see and alienating at the same time. Jeremy ran to catch up to the dog. Malcolm and Dem laughed about some such thing as they walked off the meal at a slow pace. Dem sparkled this afternoon. He had to admit that Malcolm's visit was a tonic for all three of them. Ross hadn't quite realized until he saw her so relaxed and happy this afternoon how muted and pensive she'd been. They had lived a grey life since she had returned from the London flat. Their reconciliation was slow and painful. Seeing Dem in a facet of her life Ross had no access to was interesting. She seemed to have a good friend in the Scot. He was friendly and polite, fun and courteous. They spoke of jamming together, Dem playing electric, Malcolm playing drums, and it was clear they were each impressed by the other's command of their instrument. They joked and would explain to Ross the reasons why the inscrutable comments were funny-tales of London, of Garrick running lose in a rainstorm, of Jinny's flights of fancy when she and Blue would work up some hilarious story for Jeremy's benefit, Malcolm's notorious sweet tooth...Perhaps Ross had become too gloomy. And, of course the problem of Elizabeth was a bar between them. Maybe she needed a romantic gesture, something grand and romantic. Something so unlike Ross' regular behavior, to show contrition after so much bad behavior on his part. To coax that smile and her regard back to him. Their figures grew smaller. He could see Jeremy and Garrick leap about and Dem and Malcolm sit down in the grass. Red and Blue. Even Jeremy called him 'Boo' in imitation of his mother. Ross sighed. To turn Dem back to him. Turn to him like the sun so he could feel what it was like to bask in her light once more.

Red and Blue settled on the grass as Jeremy played. He lay back, head resting on his hands, took a deep breath and sighed with contentment. "I'm city, born an' bred, but I could get used to this! It's beautiful here!" Demelza looked up at the sky and smiled. "Yes, it's peaceful out here." "You grew up here abouts, then?" asked Malcolm as he noticed Red flinch. She answered, "Well, yes, I mean I'm from Illugan, really...I've been at Nampara since I was thirteen..." Both Ross and Dem, reflexively, told people she was thirteen when she'd come to Nampara in recent years, should the subject come up. It was not the truth of the matter. She was twelve, but the ongoing gossip and the erroneous suspicions that Ross had kept her for sex at that young age wore on them both over the years. The small comfort of being able to say "teen" became second nature. After a time, they'd both absorbed the idea nearly believing it true. Malcolm had no answer to that. He looked up at Red. Of course she would cling to Ross, he's all she'd ever known. She looked at Blue, a little cowed. "Ross never laid a hand on me when I was young..." at that, Malcolm sat up on one elbow. "Demelza! I never...!" he started. She shook her head. "Doesn't everyone think that?" Malcolm recalled the leering jokes about the Poldarks he'd heard at Sir Hugh's house. Demelza was not wrong about the gossip that followed her around. He wished it wasn't so. He looked into her face and wondered. Ross Poldark had seen a spark in Red, reared her up and even made that record with her. But Ross seemed to stop, only take her half the way there. "Red? Why did ee never follow up Valley Of Bread?" Demelza demurred, looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the stems of grass. "Oh...there wasn't really the will to do that. That really was to finish Resurgam's obligation to the label...I was carrying Jeremy, we had a lot of problems then..." She let the stems fall from her fingers. Our daughter had died, Ross stood trial after the Warleggans tried to get him done on a drugs charge...the legal fees were hard on us..." She looked down at her lap. "Life was hard on us." Malcolm's eyes softened. She wasn't thinking of herself as a performer, in her own right, at all. "Red, I'm sorry life has been so cruel to you. D'ee not think of striking out on your own? I've seen you play, lass, you're a good guitarist, better than a load of blokes I know!" She smiled bashfully, she blushed and Malcolm suddenly felt there was no woman more beautiful than Demelza Poldark. If he could just stop time to stare at her face he would be a happy man. "I think on it sometimes, but Jeremy's so young and I'm not sure Ross would like it..." She looked at Blue, a bit crestfallen. "Ross and I are not happy at the moment, you know why..." He nodded. She continued. "If something could click into place, if we could start over and be happy again, I want that over a record any day!" She didn't seem to notice the tears falling down her cheeks. Malcolm wished he could brush them away. If they had been in London, he would have done, but he was on Ross' turf now. "Red, I hope you have your happiness again. But, perhaps ee could build a bit of happiness too?" She wiped her cheeks as he continued. "Ross don't own you, love! You can be your own girl, make your own rules! Be independent!" Demelza blinked in recognition. Blue's words were so like something Ross' cousin, Francis, had said to her-a conversation she'd had with him before he died-she was struck with wonder. "Maybe...we should probably get back to the house..." They stood. Demelza called to Jeremy and Garrick and they made their way back. Demelza grasped Malcolm's hand and looked up into his eyes. "Thank you, Blue." He smiled, gave her hand a gentle squeeze and they made their way back to the house.

They came back. Ross could see that Dem had been teary eyed in the Field. Jeremy was chagrined to see Mama's eyes were still leaking. Had he still not been forgiven, for all they were back at Nam Par Par? They lingered over tea, regaining an upbeat mood, filling Ross in on life in London. Occasionally, Jeremy would interject his own cheerful anecdote, between gulps of milk and feasting on the array of homemade biscuits and Battenburg cake on his plate. He would, sometimes, unthinkingly, refer to Dem as 'Mam' which Ross found disturbing. Later, Malcolm took his leave. He knelt down on one knee and gave Jeremy a hug, then spoke, face to face, at his level. "Goodbye, Jer! Be a good lad for your Mam an' Da!" Jeremy nodded and gave Malcolm the sunny sort of smile he often gave to Jud and Prudie. "Bye bye, Boo!" Malcolm stood and shook Ross' hand. "G'bye, Ross. Thank you for havin' me. Nampara is wonderful!" "You're welcome, Malcolm. Safe home..." said Ross. It might have been polite to say, 'do come again' but it was not in Ross to do so. London was far, Scotland farther. He spoke of considering going to California. Ross was content to believe that Malcolm would disappear and not return, for all he and Dem had achieved a friendship. Malcolm knelt down again to look Garrick in the face and scratch his ears. "Alright, mate! Look after Red, eh?" Garrick barked his goodbye.

Blue was staying at a bed and breakfast in Sawle and had come by cab. Dem offered to drive him back. He would meet Jinny's family tomorrow and then return to London. Ross and Jeremy waved Malcolm goodbye from the door. Ross was content to believe that was that.

"Thanks, Red! Everything was delicious and Cornwall is that nice!" "You're welcome, Blue..." smiled Red. It did not take long to reach Blue's destination. She parked in front and they turned to look at each other. "Have a happy Christmas, Blue! Have a bite of haggis for me!" said Red. "Aye, lass. I hope everything works out for you all. Happy Christmas, Red. I dunno when I'll be back in England but that number'll still work if ee ring it, love." She smiled wider. The sweet wrapper was still in her handbag. "I'll not lose it, Blue." There was a pause. This was goodbye. Blue looked sheepish, looked to the side and then back to her. "You're an ace guitarist, Red." She heard admiration in his voice. "You're a brilliant drummer! I hope we get to play again, sometime..." She took his hand and, rather that shake it, gave it an affectionate squeeze. 

"Goodbye, Blue." said Red.

"Goodbye, Red." said Blue.

He squeezed her hand back before he released it and they shared the warm, fond glance of knowing the other to be a friend and the affection within reciprocated. Malcolm left the car and entered the B&B.

Malcolm was back in London, the city was a raft of Christmas parties. He attended Sir Hugh's before he went home to Scotland so Jean Quimper could have a look in. For all there were sharks about at these affairs, it was where music power brokers connected. Sir Hugh gave a chuckle and asked, "Did you see Poldark on Top Of The Pops?" Malcolm took a swallow of his drink. "Aye, I saw it..." He did not think much of Ross Poldark's transparent ploy to win back Red. It's all well and good to stand around and swear you love your wife on television, if he loved 'er that much why'd he mess her about...? Sir Hugh winked, and laughed as Malcolm rolled his eyes. Sir Hugh was certain Malcolm had his way with Ross Poldark's missus. They'd been seen around together, long after the party. Even Malcolm's denials struck Sir Hugh as proof. 'He would say that wouldn't he!' he thought. Sir Hugh laughed again. "I should think he's got back into his wife's good books! What girl could resist a Christmas Number One?!" Malcolm nodded, and wished Sir Hugh the compliments of the season. He made the rounds of the room, told Jean he was heading off and they'd meet up again before he left England and then went on his way. He was disappointed. Not that he wanted to make a play for Red, but sad to see her drawn back into Ross' control. 'Is that your game, Poldark?' he thought as he wandered through the lights and bustle of the festive holiday streets. 'Dandle an album in front of her you can claim as mostly yours and then lock her away in Cornwall with a bunch a bairns?' Malcolm harrumphed. Anyone could see that the song was clearly destined to be the Christmas Number One. They'd probably play it on Christmas day too. Sir Hugh knew all that sort of thing. If he said it then, for certain sure, Ross hit the bullseye. The chart hadn't been announced yet but Sir Hugh was always in the know at EMI. Red had let slip that she and Ross often hurt for money, well, that wouldn't last for long now. 'Bless 'em...' thought Malcolm. Maybe things will look up for the Poldarks and Red and Jer could have Ross look after them properly. And who knows? Maybe Red might go for it one day...He sighed. Red deserved more than being a muse for her husband's hit single. Red should have her own hit single...

A year later, Malcolm exited a tube station and came face to face with a glossy gossip rag in the newsagents trumpeting, 'Thy Sweetness! Ross and Dem welcome their new baby after Resurgam's Number One!' He hated himself for buying it, but he had to see. A fluffy article about their new daughter with the sort of pictures one would expect in the glossy, oversized pages-the adoring parents, Jer peeking into his sister's cot, Red looking too gorgeous to be real in the same field where they shot the cover of Valley Of Bread with her children and her dog...Ross and his guitars, Ross and his undying love, Ross and his little wife in their romantic, Cornish, farmhouse...He flipped from page to page. Sick to his back teeth of looking at Ross, he kept coming back to Red in that field. Malcolm asked her to think of her own self in that field, think of making her own future. He sighed. She looked so beautiful and so happy. She had her man back. Perhaps that's all she wanted. Maybe she didn't need more than that...didn't care to have more. A remembrance of her rocking out in their homely little rehearsal room...she could be a star...if she wanted...

Dejected, Malcolm tossed the magazine in the bin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell Me Your Plans, The Shirts 1978
> 
> Lucozade: an electrolyte drink, like Gatorade, intended for invalids.
> 
> The magazine Ross and Dem are featured in is a fictional gossip paper like Hello. Spain and France had Hello and Paris Match in the 1940s and 1950s. English language Hello was not established until 1988! (Which explains why The Sun and News Of The World newspapers had so much clout in the dirty business of gossip in England, they were the only game in town...)
> 
> This chapter has ended from Blue's perspective. The Poldarks' ending, on Boxing Day-the day after Christmas 1975, is the last part of this section.
> 
> November to Christmas night is the story: I Believe In Father Christmas, part seven of 33&1/3


	19. Let It Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New beginnings  
> Boxing Day, 1975

I. Sister Morphine

Dem woke in Ross' arms. Boxing Day morning. The soft breath of his gentle snore and the warmth of his skin upon hers...She'd missed this. Missed him. Ross had missed her, it seemed. Ross knocked her for six, keeping his Top Of The Pops performance a secret. They made love throughout Christmas night. Ross' spiral out of control and his infidelity were set aside. They chose to begin again. To try again. But trying meant, at some point they would have to deal directly with the problems that led to their estrangement. She wasn't sure how to do that. She watched Ross' face as he slept. He had given her everything she'd feared they had lost once he chose to go to Elizabeth in May. He'd stopped using drugs. He'd stopped drinking himself into a stupor. He gave her his love...Demelza sighed. Could it be that simple? Could they just resume? She hoped so. Dem put on a slip, one of the brace of vintage slips she often wore to bed, and went to check on Jeremy who was still asleep. She risked returning to bed-Jeremy might pop awake at any time. She leaned against the bedpost, diagonal to Ross as he lay, nude, across their bed. The sheets had pried themselves free from the bottom of the mattress. Mussed from the nights activity, his feet were exposed and free of the sheets. She sat on the edge of the bed, across from them, and stared.

Ross woke to see Dem, knees drawn up, in a buttercup yellow slip, staring intently at his feet. He scrunched the toes of one foot. He willed himself not to turn them in to face the mattress or pull them up, back under the sheets. It was her right. Dem had the right to see the abuse of himself in the intimacy of being his wife. She had cried over them as he slept though she had stopped by the time he woke. Even Ross was unprepared for the swift destruction that his foray into street drugs had brought. In his previous period of addiction, Ross was entitled to a government prescription. It was the waning edge of a health scheme England had abandoned as the number of addicts began to rise in a problematic manner. His drugs had been clean. Now, in a shorter time frame than before, his veins and the look of his feet had become discolored and pocked. Lumpen marks that showed plainly around sites of injection. Mottled and bruised looking in various spots. He was taking in as much strange fillers and extenders as drugs in his short relapse-milk powder, talc, heaven knows what... They did heal, over time. Began to look better as the months progressed. After a time, the only proof was an odd patch of discoloration that never left, never faded. Somewhat green, somewhat magenta. A splotch that denied Ross the ability to pretend he had not been so selfish, so foolish, so self destructive. If his scar from kicking the first time became his badge of honor, the small patch of discoloration on his left foot became a badge of shame. The years would pass and, like his scar, it would become what was. The children did not remark upon it, it had always been there and Papa misremembered how he'd obtained it. Both Ross and Dem became used to it being there as well, though both knew its meaning. Now, here and now, Boxing Day 1975, Ross' feet were fresh testaments to the detonation of his marriage and his desperate wish to hide from his responsibility of it. Ross looked at her. He wanted to look away but he made himself face her, even as the look on her face broke his heart. She'd been away so long-he'd chased her away, behaved so badly for so long-it was like seeing her anew. Her hair fell in slightly longer curls, her face held a mixture of sadness and horror. That she still loved him, still cared for him, showed plainly. That he'd destroyed her world, broken the parts of their life they both held dear shone just as clear. He had always been weak, Ross thought. A stronger man wouldn't have done any of this. A smarter man would have made better choices. An honorable man would have never strayed. 'I am not that man, was I ever that man...?' thought Ross. She spoke quietly. "Do they hurt you?" Ross, his head still on the pillow, nodded. "A little..." He sat up. She watched him. The buoyant movement of his cock, semi erect, flopping to one side as he sat up properly, the dark hair of his body, his legs rearranged, seated near her with his knees to one side, the ruin of his feet quite near hers as she rearranged herself to sit cross legged. Her husband. Ross lay his hand in her lap, brought her hand to lay between both of his. He looked at their hands. The silent reproach of their wedding rings. He tried to look at her, look her in the eye, but he could not. He looked down again. Her eyes damned him. Her ring damned him. Her slender, pretty foot so near his own, damned him. Anywhere he lay his gaze he was damned. He could not say anything in defense of himself. He could only hope he had her forbearance. "I'm sorry..." He rubbed the palm of her hand with his thumbs, at once a way to calm his nervousness and regain intimacy with her once more. They had come so close to parting for good...She was strong. She would do it. She would, for herself and for Jeremy. Demelza was a fighter. She left home at twelve with her dog not knowing what lay ahead except she could not stay in her father's house. Even that young, she girded herself and left. Ross' idiocy could have cost him the one person in his life that meant the most for she was the stronger of the two of them. She came back. She was sitting quite near and he held her hand. He was not dreaming. She was real. "I'm so sorry, Dem..." He pulled his bottom lip in. He did not feel he had the right to cry after what he put her through. He blinked his eyes open and shut, sniffed and looked at her. "I..." Dem's face made him go silent. Her mouth was a thin line, her eyes, freshly filled with tears that splashed forward and ran down her cheeks. She parted her lips to speak and then shut them again. Ross waited. They were starting to shake, starting to feel all the emotions they had both denied themselves in the splendor of their lovemaking. Jealousy. Guilt. Anger. The uneasy knowledge of coming so close to parting. Doubt, of themselves and each other. Their obligation to right themselves, for Jeremy's sake. The shadow of Julia. The specter of Elizabeth. The tangled mess of it all and no true answers. They remained linked, Ross holding Dem's hand within his own. They wept.

II. Red Letter Day

Jeremy enjoyed Boxing Day. It was like having Christmas twice. He went downstairs to find the presents still under the tree and the television playing to no one in the parlor. It was already playing cartoons. Papa came in shortly after and they had a marvelous time, laughing at the antics of the cartoon animals who were so silly. They sat in front of the sofa, on the floor. Jeremy sat next to Papa and lay across his lap. Papa laughed and sat him on his lap, saying he squirmed like a minnow. Papa had two different kinds of faces. One quite smooth and one prickly. This morning he was prickly and when Jeremy felt his cheek against his forehead or put his hand to touch Papa's cheek, little baby hairs prickled against him and he could feel Papa's smile widen as he talked or laughed. Sometimes the hairs were gone and Jeremy was interested in the difference. Papa was endlessly fascinating. Papa suggested they go to the kitchen and even lifted him up like Boo did sometimes-but better-because it was Papa. Mama was already making hot buttered toast and setting out jars of jam on the table. "Where Pu-die?" asked Jeremy. Papa sat Jeremy in his chair and took his seat, like always and yet new at the same time. "It's Boxing Day, Jeremy. Jud and Prudie will be back tomorrow." said Papa. It was like having Christmas twice! He had Mama and Papa all to himself and they helped him color pictures on his new pad and hugged him and played games by the tree. They even had the same dinner too! They played with Garrick outside and then had mince pies, for they had eaten all of the chocolates. They both helped him to bed. Papa grinned when Jeremy popped his head through his pajama shirt and they laughed. Papa didn't mind doing it twice and Mama laughed as well. Jeremy looked from one to the other and realized that Father Christmas was wonderful. Father Christmas gave him the present he wished for and gave extra under the tree besides! Papa read him a story, sitting next to him on the bed. Better than the phone. They looked at the pictures together while Papa made voices for all the different people, even ladies! Papa and Mama kissed him good night and Mama tucked him in his bedclothes. Jeremy lay awake, waiting. If Father Christmas was really, truly, listening there was one last correction. Something he'd asked for as well that had not happened Christmas night. Jeremy rolled to his side and lay waiting in the dark. The room was quite dark in Nam Par Par. There were not street lights and other houses close by like there were in London. He felt it might happen. He hoped it might happen. It remained quiet. This was a disappointment to Jeremy. It made him nervous. If music was still forfeit then he had still not been forgiven... And then... Through the floorboards, a sound that made Jeremy smile. He rolled onto his back and laughed from happiness, then rolled back over, snuggling against his pillow and curling himself up to sleep well. A guitar playing, sweetly, through the floorboards, like they had never left. Father Christmas was wonderful. All was forgiven.

III. The Long And Winding Road

It was not often that the Poldarks left the television on in the parlor, throughout the day. They had not turned it off over night when Ross brought Demelza upstairs after Top Of The Pops. Ross found Jeremy already watching cartoons when he came into the parlor. The programming for the day after Christmas was pleasant so it remained on through the day and, other than laughing together, all three, cuddled on the sofa, watching 'It's A Christmas Knockout', they had it on in the background as they both made a point of giving Jeremy attention. Needing to feel like a family. Wanting to be a family again. Jeremy seemed so happy. They helped him color on his pad as Let It Be played off in the parlor corner. The Beatles often made Ross, and Dem in particular, happy but this film seemed to mirror their own life at the moment. Playing to an empty sofa, burbling in the background, the rupture and end days of the Beatles was captured in the film. There was a tiredness to them all and even the rooftop concert seemed elegiac. Ross and Dem each sensed this but were shy of turning it off. They did not want to admit to the other that it bothered them. They played games with Jeremy, ate leftovers. They made a point of both helping Jeremy to bed together and Ross read him a story. His fervent hug goodnight swelled Ross' heart and broke it in equal measure. He'd work to mend his ways. Ross vowed to be a proper father as he held Jeremy close and wished him goodnight. He had been given a second chance and Ross would not waste it. Ross turned the television off and played his Gibson for a while. Dem curled up on the sofa to listen. She did not want to play hers. She missed that tatty, white electric guitar in Blue's rehearsal room, missed rocking out...she would not play a Fender tonight, let the night remain quiet...

They spent time in the kitchen. They cleaned the dishes. Dem washed. Ross dried. They made more tea and sat side by side. Ross sat his cup down. "Come here..." he smiled. Ross pushed away from the table to give Dem room to sit on his lap. She smiled and put her arms around him. They admired each other, close and so near once more. They tasted of tea in a soft kiss that made them both happy. He draped his arms about her waist and she lay her cheek along side his head. They sat quiet. The hum of the refrigerator, the quiet surge of blood Dem could hear as she pressed her ear against Ross' head. There was not much to say. They were back in Nampara, together in Nampara. They would try. The camp bed was dismantled and put back in the stillroom. The secret language of their bodies' pleasure renewed. Their intimate pact resumed. She would be wife to him again and he would earn back her love. Restoring trust was a trickier proposition...They had no true answer for that yet.

Later, in the parlor, Dem put the TV back on to find 'A Lion In Winter' playing. She stood still. The strange, stilted acting of the stage captured on film. Ostensibly about political ambition but, in truth, about parents and children, marriage and the ties that bind, even in the dynastic intrigue and gamesmanship. Dem felt her heart crack apart and that is how Ross found her as he entered the parlor. He saw her there, standing stock still between the television and the sofa as Katherine Hepburn's Eleanor of Aquitaine spoke to her son.

'Don't you remember how you loved me? We were always hand in hand. Remember how I taught you numbers and the lute and poetry? See? You do remember. I taught you dancing too and languages...and all the music I knew and how to love what is beautiful...'

Ross watched, feeling as if his heart had stopped beating as he watched Dem, her hand over her mouth, tears spilling forward that glistened in the light of the television. If it took Demelza watching Ross perform 'Thy Sweetness' to become aware of Ross' contrition, it took Ross watching Dem's reaction as she watched this old movie for him to begin to truly understand the level of cruelty he'd dealt her in his selfish pique and its aftermath in his relapse. Ross found it difficult to swallow. There was a lump in his throat. Dem stood, overcome with grief in the brief dialogue of this scene. His throat tightened as his vision blurred with tears. He had orphaned her. In dishonoring her as a wife he had also destroyed his previous role as her guardian. Who taught her music? Who insisted she see herself as worthy even as the community around them vilified them in their life together? Her trusted friend. Her teacher. Who taught her to love? Her lover. Her husband. Ross was all of those things and he felt the loss of her trust and her pride in him-pride in having someone in her life who cared for her...he felt the absence of this like a physical pain. Ross had erred-that he knew-but there was a tragic element of his selfishness that had not struck him until now. He had dragged her back to the start. She had Jeremy and the memory of Julia but she was back to herself and Garrick. She had no mother, a father so abusive there was no contact or relationship with him...and Ross had failed her. Ross let his greed and arrogance destroy the one aspect of family she had come to rely upon, above his role as husband to her, he had abandoned her. Jud's terse scold rang out in Ross' mind, 'Ee might as well a takin' a strap to 'er like 'er no account pa...' Ross could make love with Dem once more but he may have injured her trust for good-however much they reconciled, would the quieter levels of trust between them return? She stood in sorrow. Her hair and eyes lit by the television, tears evident in the glow of the television and a strange mourning fell over Ross. He had broken the heart of his West Country girl, Demelza, the loveliest girl in the world...

'The sun was warmer then and we were everyday together...'

"Dem..." he said quietly, thickly. She looked to him, sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her hand. The brightness in her eyes, the spark that made her 'Dem', diminished. He had done that. That was his fault. That's how badly he had hurt her..."Come to bed, my love..." He looked to her, looked into her eyes even as they were both crying. "Come to bed and let me hold you..."She nodded and sniffled. Turned the television off. Ross hesitated but chose to extend his hand. She took it and he squeezed it gently. They walked through the house and upstairs. The mistletoe hung about the doorways watched, without reproach, two people trying to find their way back to each other. They got ready for bed. They undressed but they did not venture to make love. They needed something different this Boxing Day night. If their reunion the night before was all that was beautiful between Ross and Dem, then they had that to hold as they began the painful work of truly mending. The wounds lay that deep.

"I love you, Demelza."

Ross whispered in the dark. She curled closer to him as the mistletoe overhead watched, dispassionately. It heard the soft sigh between them as they kissed goodnight. It saw the marred, junkie stigmata of Ross' feet. It saw the tenderness of their embrace, the truce that lay between them as their bodies resumed their bond-the love so strong between them. The mistletoe had no way of bearing witness to their interior life. Ross and Dem held those secrets close, but they had reunited all the same. There was love enough to sustain them. To make amends. To forgive. To move forward. Together.

END OF PART ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let It Be, The Beatles 1970
> 
> Sister Morphine, The Rolling Stones 1971
> 
> Red Letter Day, Fox 1975
> 
> The Long And Winding Road, The Beatles 1970
> 
> knocked for six: utterly surprised
> 
> red letter day: a date of note, important enough to highlight in red ink rather than black ink on a printed calendar or date book
> 
> It's A Knockout and It's A Christmas Knockout are silly competitions between local villages or countries with people in costumes or utilizing goofy props to win points for their team. It is totally silly and hilarious.


	20. Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs used for titles and sub chapters

A Thin Line Between Love And Hate, The Persuaders 1971

Rich Girl, Hall and Oates 1976

Jolene, Dolly Parton 1974

Black Magic Woman, Santana 1970

Under My thumb, The Rolling Stones 1966

Gold Dust Woman, Fleetwood Mac 1977

Fascination, David Bowie 1975

A Woman Left Lonely, Janis Joplin 1971

We're Going Wrong, Cream 1967

Bro Goth Agan Tasow (Old Land Of Our Fathers)

Heroin, The Velvet Underground 1967(trigger warning for drug usage)

How Deep It Goes, Heart 1975

In Every Dream Home A Heartache, Roxy Music 1973

Ball And Chain, Big Brother And The Holding Company 1968

When Your Old Wedding Ring Was New, Jimmy Roselli 1967

So Far Away, Carole King 1971

Dear Mr. Fantasy, Traffic 1967

Talk Of The Town, The Pretenders 1981

Maiden Voyage, Herbie Hancock 1965

Second Hand News, Fleetwood Mac 1977

Whole Lotta Love, Led Zeppelin 1976

Guinevere, Rick Wakeman 1975

Foxy lady, Jimi Hendrix 1967 

The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys, Traffic 1971

Barracuda, Heart 1977

Rikki Don't Lose That Number, Steely Dan 1974

Perfect Day, Lou Reed 1973

Sir Galahad, Rick Wakeman 1975

Dear Prudence, The Beatles 1968

I'll Be Your Mirror, The Velvet Underground 1967

Tell Me Your Plans, The Shirts 1978

Yakety Yak, The Coasters 1958

Age Of Not Believing, As sung by Angela Lansbury, Walt Disney Music Co., 1971

Pisces Babies, Fox 1975

Kid, The Pretenders 1979

Baby Come Back, Player 1977

Let It be, The Beatles 1970

Sister Morphine, The Rolling Stones 1971

Red Letter Day, Fox 1975

The Long And Winding Road, The Beatles 1970

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a 'sex, drugs and rock and roll' based, canon divergent, 20th century, alternate universe version of Winston Graham's Poldark saga and may contain spoilers for the whole series, INCLUDING CHARACTER DEATHS.  
> If you wish to remain unspoiled for books after WG's 'The Loving Cup', the last chapter in this story is 'You Make Loving Fun' and you should not read past that point.
> 
> 33 and 1/3 is a series 
> 
> Little Wing- Ross and Demelza meet in 1964( Ross Poldark)  
> Why Don't We Do It In The Road- Ross and Demelza marry in 1968 ( Ross Poldark and part of Demelza )  
> Gimme Shelter- Ongoing difficulties ( Demelza and Jeremy Poldark)
> 
> I Believe In Father Christmas is the Christmas reconciliation from Warleggan
> 
> Opening Theme From Dr. Who- Fluff and the introduction of infant Clowance, Ross and Dem's daughter ( Black Moon )
> 
> Ballroom Blitz-A stand alone story about Demelza's band 
> 
> The Wall- A joke about...  
> ...New Career In A New Town- The major plot deviation from the Poldark canon on which All Tomorrow's Parties rests. Hugh and Malcolm are the bassist/producer/manager and drummer in Demelza's trio and their relationship individually and together to Demelza is very different from established Poldark.


End file.
